Ain't No Rest
by jackal1973
Summary: What would happen if Jax decided to keep his Old Lady with him when Tara resurfaced in his life whether the good doctor really wanted to be there or not.  Let me know what you think.
1. Chapter 1

"She stays," the lowly spoken command held an undercurrent of ice as it settled over the leather clad group milling around the stuffy courtroom doors. Those two words issued more fear amid the members assembled than the charges that were pending over the club's collective heads.

"Son," a questioning voice broke the rising tension trying to bridge the chasm that had unexpectedly torn through their brotherhood during the legal proceedings leaving longtime loyalties suddenly frayed.

"Don't call me that," instantly came his bristled reply. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again."

The threat was implicit, the promise of pain and injury all too clear if the older man tried to claim that bond of familial affiliation again and the seasoned man argued, "She left you. The first time you were in lock-up, she packed her bags and left you. She deserved-"

"No, don't even try to go there with me," the words exploded from the misery in his soul like deadly bullets. "She was just doing what I told her to do while I went away."

"You never said anything," the useless justification slipped past the other man's gray mustache. "You didn't-"

"I told you that Tara was fine," he raged back cutting off anymore trivial excuses from the grizzled MC President. "I told _you_ to leave her alone."

Sidestepping his assertion, Clay's brows furrowed in response, "She never said anything even when-"

Cold fury erupted through him then making his fists nearly tremble with the need to make the other man hurt for all that he'd done. "She wouldn't," he immediately shot back. "She probably didn't even beg as you made her bleed."

"Jax," the head biker shied away from the all too astute condemnation but he couldn't hear another word of easy dismissal from the man who'd stepped in and raised him like a son. "No," he furiously countered. "My Old Lady never left me," he gritted out with certainty, "until you laid hands on her."

With nothing remaining to defend himself with, the wizened biker used truth that cut deeper and faster than any blade, "Maybe, but she never came back either."

Desolation sliced through him steadily draining Jax of the latent hope that had flared to life under the instantaneous need for retribution after hearing what had really happened to the girl who'd stolen his heart when they were only sixteen and never seen fit to return it. Even after a decade of her absence; she still held it in the palm of her surgeon's hand.

"Well, Tara's back now," Jax ground out with feral promise to his fellow Brothers, "and she's staying no matter what anyone says including her."


	2. Chapter 2

Instinct told Tara that she had to get out of here.

Fast.

Out of this stuffy courthouse, out of this stagnant town, hell, just out of Sam Crow's damn reach as quickly as she could.

It felt like she'd been holding her breath in fear ever since those ATF agents had tracked her down outside of surgery all those many weeks ago. She'd just finished a particularly grueling procedure on a baby less than twenty-four hours old and had been near exhaustion but it hadn't taken her any time at all to peg them as law enforcement. Instantly, she'd been on guard. Old habits die hard it seemed.

Tara hadn't really thought the stone cold blonde would actually follow through on her threat after the doctor had refused to answer the agent's questions about her former association with the Sons of Anarchy, a group that any arm of law enforcement knew was way more than simply a bunch of motorcycle enthusiasts, but, somehow, she'd been reassured that they wouldn't bother her again by the female's overly concerned partner. Tara simply should have known better. The doctor fully recognized a power hungry woman when she saw one and Agent Stahl had figured that she'd easily make her collars on the back of a once young girl's tragic loss and need for revenge.

However, the agent was surely a dumb bitch if she thought that Tara would ever side with her especially after today. The shrew with a badge didn't even realize that nothing good would ever come from her pursuit, by forcing the doctor to the stand with her stupid subpoena, so that the prosecutor could cavalierly reveal hard truths in open court.

Yes, the ATF termagant was certainly swimming in the shallow end of the IQ gene pool if she truly thought that any amount of legal vengeance would satisfy the aching, empty pit that her womb had become oh so many years ago. And, she was an utter fool, if Stahl had thought that Jax had had any hand in what had occurred back then.

Regardless, Tara knew that every second that ticked by was one less chance for her to get out of her hometown without incurring any more emotional scars. With renewed purpose, she grabbed her messenger bag and hastily made her way toward the courthouse's exit to skip out of Charming just as quickly as she'd slipped in.

* * *

><p>Painfully, Jax closed his eyes wearily remembering just how perfect she'd looked earlier.<p>

Tara had waltzed back into Charming swathed in unrelieved black from head to toe looking like a wayward angel. Hips swinging in that slow rolling gate he instantly remembered with way too much fondness and naked lips naturally plumped in heavenly invitation. Surely, the girl of his lustful teenage memories had more than matured into the woman of his all too manly dreams.

Tara was clean, crisp, with a self-possessed control that hadn't fully taken root yet the last time he'd seen her but she wore it far too well given his body's instant reaction.

Her thick hair was still styled long and straight, the sable luster shining under the harsh fluorescent lights like a beacon in the night beckoning him to bury his fingers into the soft warmth it had always promised. Years ago, he'd have been able to do that without restraint but, now, there was a certain hands off slant to her demeanor that left her untouchable.

That button down shirt she'd been wearing was no-nonsense black but just a little too fitted to be merely professional atop unrelieved inky pants that rewrote a symphony of want within him as they skimmed across her pliable thighs. And her boots weren't quite biker babe but certainly not yuppy wannabe either, their lines were clean enough for respectability but with an edge of attitude that promised that they could still kick ass if pushed too far.

They were quintessentially his girl; Tara had become a dark specter of stoic womanhood, her curves still subtle and supple but her porcelain face sharp, almost hard, with a world weary knowledge that settled heavily on his shoulders.

It had nearly killed him when she'd finally looked at him. It was as if she'd drawn a shade over the thriving green windows to her soul that his girl had always let him peer into with crystal clarity. She no longer let him slip past the impenetrable wall Tara habitually erected for protection against those she didn't trust, it made him bleed in places Jax didn't want to acknowledge that he was now just one of many on the outside just trying to peek in after all that they'd been to each other.

And, then, she'd done something wholly unexpected but just as devastating to his psyche.

Tara had brushed her hand over that sweet spot that had only belonged to him on her lower back and let the barricade to her inner sanctum drop for just a second. Sharply, he'd sucked in a ragged breath at the fiery promise that still burned like glowing embers in her steadfast gaze. It may have only been a mere instant when Tara's cool reserve had slipped but it had been more than enough to sear him with the truth that his woman would never betray him. Not now. Not ever.

After Tara had pointedly looked at him in that intimate way, Jax had momentarily stilled. Every fiber of his being had dared to hope that what they'd had all those years ago could somehow be resurrected as she'd placed her adept hand over the proffered Bible and swore her married name into the court records. There had been more than pride swelling within him as Tara had verbally tagged herself as his after so long with nobody but them knowing the truth.

Growing anticipation took root within his hardened frame, a tendre of idyllic expectation had unerringly blossomed within his formerly barren heart but it was sorely short lived. Each word had layered upon the next and legal accusation had quickly built up like a fragile house of cards just waiting for even the weakest of winds to blow it down, to flatten it into nothing but scattered remnants of obsolete hope.

Tara never uttered even the least incriminating term against them as she'd skirted the prosecutor's questions with a skill that would make any Son proud but he couldn't relish that expertise amid the evidence that was being flashed before him like nothing more than the latest Hollywood horror film. He'd thought that his sense of betrayal couldn't get worse after Jax saw the vividly enlarged picture of Tara's bruised cheek when he figured out that the constellation of blood splotches and depressed skin had nearly formed the outline of a very familiar pair of SONS rings.

Purposefully, Jax had then turned to the man he'd thought of as a father for so many years desperate for the heart wrenching truth to be somehow denied but it wasn't to be. Clay had sat next to him at the worn defendants table looking as unrepentant and remorseless as ever until the final legal punch was thrown.

Tara's broken and hesitant affirmation that she had been just shy of twenty one weeks pregnant before the attack had occurred finally hammered away the last vestiges of constraint on his lividly burning need for swift vengeance and bloody retribution. His prior faith and trust in the older man had left a rancid, putrid taste in his mouth as he realized that Clay had brutally extinguished the unsullied and pure life of his unborn child when he'd beaten Tara to a tattered and bloody pulp while Jax had been dutifully serving his first stint in prison to protect the Club.

Suddenly, the clamor of the holding cell door shook him out of his torturous remembrances and, swiftly, Jax hopped off the dingy cot to face the gray haired biker who'd become nothing but a soon to be dead man to him.

* * *

><p>Freedom was just seconds away.<p>

Tara could see the glorious sunlight pouring through the glass fronted entrance just ahead, the people scurrying along the sidewalk like an obedient procession of ants, and the long line of abandoned Harley's parked hauntingly across the street. Swiftly, she hurried her pace only to be summarily cut off by the swaggering stride of the bony assed ATF agent who'd wrought today's personal nightmare.

"Well," the icy blonde smugly grinned with a satisfaction that was blatant in her plotting gaze, "I suppose that you think you pulled a fast one on me today. Don't you, Doctor?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Tara adeptly dodged the question with an insincere smile as she tried to edge past the other woman. "I told you back in Chicago that I had nothing useful for you."

"Oh, see, that's where you're wrong," the persistent ATF agent cajoled with superiority as the other woman blocked her escape. "You were extremely useful today because I knew," Stahl drew out her mocking tone, "that even if you didn't give up anything about Jackson Teller, your mere presence while we recounted what had happened to you all those years ago at Morrow's hands would be like driving a semi sized sledge hammer through the backbone of the Sons loyalty."

"You're a despicable woman," Tara automatically returned knowing that the repercussions of this woman's actions, the turmoil the law enforcer had unearthed, could ripple through the MC world with deadly consequences if they all weren't extremely careful. Purposefully, Tara warned, "You're going to leave this alone now."

"Why, Doctor," the agent nodded toward the hoard of bad ass Brothers moving down the hall to her with a singular intent, "are you going to have one of Jax's boys take care of me if I don't?"

With a hardened strength she'd almost forgotten, Tara leveled a steely gaze at the agent who'd exposed her most painful secrets to the world, "I don't need a boy to handle my shit." Her brow puckered in emphasis as she added, "You'd better keep your piece close by, bitch."

The other woman chuckled in response, almost daring her to try something, as the blonde bid her farewell, "See you around, Mrs. Teller."

The winning tap of the agent's departing heels was quickly swallowed up by the harsh beat of a veritable army of scuffed motorcycle boots that now surrounded her like an inevitable cage of rough and tumble flesh. Unmovable and inescapable.

Shit.

As she slowly swept the all too serious eyes of the men surrounding her, Tara knew that she wasn't going to leave Charming without a new set of emotional bruises as a souvenir.

* * *

><p>Bones cracked.<p>

Blood spilled.

And, still, it wasn't nearly enough.

Jax's rage boiled under his skin almost blistering him with the molten need for the vengeance that steadily spewed forth from his ravaged soul to enflame his tightly coiled fists. Almost without effort, his angry burning hands battered against the nearly limp flesh of his child's killer like an unstoppable jackhammer of retribution.

The forceful give of marrow and sinew, the easy snap of bone and cartilage made an all too welcome melody of menace to his ears. Each blow landed in perfect time to the unwritten cadence of the wrath of a man wronged to his very core. The bruising tune of misery and woe wasn't nearly finished when the discordant sounds of jailhouse guards tried to bring his lethal dance with Clay to an abrupt end. Still, he didn't let them cut into his deadly interlude with his woman's abuser easily.

Ruthlessly, Jax wrapped his tatted forearm around the older man's unshaven neck and fairly trembled with the quaking need for Tara's name to be the last thing the son of a bitch saw or heard as he escorted the King into the reaper's eternal clutches. His nostrils flared at the burgeoning scent of his bloody victory just as Agent Stahl soundlessly looked on through the holding cell's bars with deeply cunning satisfaction.

With deliberation, the frigid bitch's lips smirked at him in triumphant salute before slithering back into the swarm of corrections officers converging on them.

* * *

><p>For long silent moments, Tara noted the old familiar faces amid the group looking a little rougher than memory served but just as rag tag and shabbily lovable. Ruffians who'd had their own brand of honor and loyalty stamped on their backs and fiercely protected what they considered theirs. There was a time when that notion had both equally appealed to and abhorred her in the same instance back when she was more naive and less aware of how rare that level of devotion was out in the reality of so called normal civilian life.<p>

Without preamble, Tara greeted the towering mountain of well-known beard in front of her, "Op, I really tried to avoid this. It took a subpoena and a federal escort to even get me back to Charming."

"Yeah," he merely sighed in acceptance, "it was hard to miss the two suits hovering over you until you took the stand. That gray haired one was like a human shackle at your side," her childhood friend easily replied with a crooked grin. "But it sure was fun," he drawled on, "to see all the jaws drop when you had your legal name read into the records."

"Gemma always said I had a smart mouth," she quipped back unable to help herself between Opie's boyish teasing and the good natured ribbing trickling from the road hardened group lingering around them. Somehow it felt too easy and familiar despite her long absence from their company.

"So you and Jax really did it, huh," Opie questioned with a knowing glint in his measured gaze. "This wasn't just one of your hell raising little pranks."

"Yeah, we really did," she quickly reassured him without any need to hide the truth now. "He made me legal to get my ink."

Instantly, there were a number of curious gazes now raking over the exposed parts of her body with that statement but only Opie dared to ask when nothing, especially a telltale crow, was readily visible, "So where is it?"

"It doesn't matter where it is," she bashfully answered before forcefully reminding him. "That was a long time ago and it really doesn't matter now because I'm already on my way back out of town."

The big man slapped his worn gloves in his hand, quirked his lips a smidgeon in regret, and then meaningfully responded, "Tara, you gotta know that's not how this is gonna work."

At Opie's resolute words, the surgeon finally let out that breath she'd felt like she'd been holding for far too long. As Jax's Brothers encircled her, Tara suddenly knew that while years too late this was one homecoming her husband didn't intend to miss.

* * *

><p>Booted heels slammed against the concrete floors, the furious sound ricocheting off the walls like the reverberation of a shotgun blast before his mother abruptly stopped in front of his metal cage and spat, "Clay's been transported to the hospital."<p>

Cooly, without any remorse, Jax replied, "I know."

"What," Gemma instantly demanded as she grabbed the bars between them. "If you were there why didn't you help him?"

"Oh, I helped him alright," his low tone ground the truth back at her as the older woman's slow gaze traveled all too knowingly over his ravaged knuckles and bloodied lip before landing with calculation back on his unyielding stare.

"What did you do," his mother cautiously asked, her posture showing that for once Gemma was uncertain that she was ready for the answer as her face tightened in preparation for the verbal hit he was likely to deliver.

Callously, he looked over his mother's sun roughened skin that was beginning to sag in places with the immorality of her long life now hanging heavy upon her slender frame. He'd known for years how underhanded and manipulative her maternal moves could be but Jax had always given her the benefit of the doubt in the past, always attributed Gemma's harsher actions to her deep and abiding love for him but no more. He wouldn't look past her selfish machinations this time for the seasoned biker had no doubt that his devoted mother dearest had been well aware of every single sin that Clay had committed.

Levelly, he responded with wide, challenging eyes, "What do you think I did?"

"Jesus," she exclaimed, "All of this over some traitorous pussy?"

"Tara was never just pussy," he gritted out, "or a traitor."

"Oh, baby," Gemma swiftly tried to console him by reaching through the bars like he was still her heartbroken little boy, "we just couldn't let her get away with leaving you that way."

"Well, congratulations Ma, I hope you're proud of yourself," his words were suddenly filled with vile loathing and utter contempt, "because you killed your own grandchild."

Unable to look at the duplicitous woman who'd given him this life any longer, Jax purposefully turned his back to her then walked away knowing that his mute dismissal would cut Gemma deeper than any blade ever could. Tiredly, he slumped on the lumpy cot as his fingers slowly traced over the black letters on his forearm that proclaimed the only woman who mattered to him now.

Silently, Jax promised himself, he'd make this right with Tara somehow because he wasn't going to lose her again.


	3. Chapter 3

Jax Teller's Old Lady was back in town to stay.

Word had gone out not too subtly and none too quietly as the Harley's had rumbled around her, encircling her in their tight knit formation and making it perfectly clear to the residents of this sleepy little town that while Tara Knowles-Teller may have been escorted into town on the arm of a federal subpoena, she wouldn't be setting a foot outside of Charming without her husband's permission.

It was as if the rebellious girl turned staid surgeon was now being held captive by her own hometown in only a matter of hours and it didn't set well with him. Not at all.

David Hale might not have been the leather clad biker of Tara's girlhood dreams but he'd certainly been her friend and that would never change. No matter what Jax and his fellow Brothers had to say about it.

Without compunction, he stepped out of his squad car and placed a booted foot onto the well-worn cement that fronted the Teller-Morrow compound. Since Tara hadn't been back to her old man's place yet and he was fairly certain that the headstrong girl he fondly remembered would never step foot in Gemma's domain that only left the clubhouse. He didn't need to so much as pass over the threshold of the Sons sanctuary to know that Jax's estranged wife was indeed in residence.

If the armed men on the roof and the thick line of bikers and hangers on blocking the entrance wasn't an indicator of Tara's presence, the complete absence of the lewd and scantily attired females who'd always been in abundance every other time police business had brought him to the clubhouse was certainly a dead giveaway.

It seemed that the V.P. didn't want the little misses to come face to face with all of his past dalliances just yet. Personally, David didn't think that the Tara he'd known and secretly loved would easily fall for that slight of Jax's lecherous hand but that wasn't his concern right now. No, his reason for being there wasn't the biker's wayward dick but rather Tara's well-being and safety. There was no way he was going to let those bastards treat her like she was nothing more than the Prince of Charming's modern day chattel.

He might not have been able to wrest Tara from Jax's stranglehold back in the day but those times had changed. By badge or by bullet if necessary, he'd free Tara if she was in forced lockdown at the Teller-Morrow compound.

* * *

><p>"Jackie Boy probably won't be back tonight," Chibs knowingly offered the hodge-podge group as he flipped closed what was certain to be an untraceable prepay before conspicuously adding, "Clay's been admitted to St. Thomas under guard."<p>

From the lack of hostile reactions or questions of retaliation and the equally unaffected expressions plastered across the Sons faces, Tara could only deduce that her flock of babysitting bikers had anticipated something along those lines well before they'd even converged upon her at the courthouse. It wasn't a comforting notion. Not at all.

This was just the start of all that she'd feared so many years ago as she trembled in grief alone on a hospital gurney. This was exactly why she'd never told Jax a damn thing when he'd gotten out of Stockton. This was precisely why she had stayed gone all this time and why she desperately needed to leave now. She couldn't let another domino fall in a long line of bloody destruction even though it had been meticulously lined up by fate years ago.

Negligently, Tara spun around the clubhouse that looked as if time had literally stood still within its cinder block confines, the drunken roadhouse atmosphere still replete with a well-used stripper pole in the corner. There might be a few more grainy booking pictures of new Sons lining the walls but the rest was just as archaically chauvinistic and domineering as it had always been. With deliberation she stated, "Since Jax isn't even going to be here, I'm not staying."

"Sorry, Doc," Tig replied from behind her, his voice rising in a tight curling pitch just like his disorderly hair to indicate his unexpected remorse but his utter conviction, "We don't want to hurt you but we gotta follow Jax's orders."

"You know the drill, Doc, " Chibs cheekily added in his favored brogue smiling at her new nickname, "an Old Lady doesn't leave their Son without his say so."

"This is such bullshit," she instantly cried to the men surrounding her. Their size, might, and determination presented a unified and steadfast loyalty to their Brother's wishes, "I'm not his anymore. I haven't been for over a decade."

"That's not the tune you were singing to the Feds earlier," Bobby reminded her with a raised set of brows to show that they'd all heard her in court and while they hadn't been privy to the nuptials before now, they were also well aware that Jax had never signed a divorce decree either.

"That," she stuttered shaking her head to negate the claim, "that was just conveniently taking advantage of a legal loophole so I didn't wind up in a jail cell for contempt of court or obstruction of justice charges when I didn't give the Feds anything on you guys." She adamantly maintained, "Nothing more."

"Guess Jax is just taking advantage of your marital loophole as well," Opie played off her explanation meaningfully. Yeah, that was just part of what had her so concerned. There was no way that either of them would emotionally survive Tara being alone with him now. It would be better for them all the way around if she was gone before Jax was released.

"Come on guys," she pled, "this is ridiculous, you can't keep me here," her eyes were brimming with appeal as if her very sanity suddenly depended on their giving in, on them relenting just enough for her to make her get away, so she could slink back to the relative peace of Chicago. It was apparent that they felt for her predicament that they still cared about her as leather creaked in collective discomfort but still their boots were solidly planted in a plot of stubborn male territory that left Tara bound to Charming.

Without warning, she scurried past Tig and Opie and dashed around Bobby's protruding belly en route to the exit knowing that any of those men could have easily grabbed at her but hadn't. Fleetingly, it was a reassuring thought to know that when push came to shove, the bikers that she'd loved like dysfunctional family wouldn't hurt her.

She was almost around the bend of the untidy bar when an unfamiliar face loomed large and hard blocking her access to the hallway and her inevitable escape. His low, gravelly tone strained against her rapidly beating heart as the clean shaven man they'd called Happy in a blatant misnomer darkly informed her, "These guys might care about you enough to keep from hurting your feelings but I don't. The only thing I know about you is that you're my V.P.'s Old Lady and he wants you here."

Tara knew it was foolish but still she hoisted the bulk of her messenger bag around the back of her hips and leveled an equally resolute claim, "You are _not_ keeping me here."

"Oh, yes, I will," Happy easily shoved the words back at her as he swiftly boxed her in against the scarred wooden bar top. His rigid stance a forewarning of what might come as tension hung thick and heavy, more dense than the hazy smoke still lingering amid the congregation of men intent on keeping her just where Jax wanted her regardless of what she had to say on the matter.

Slowly, the surgeon was cataloguing her lack of options just as a skinny, sandy haired Prospect nervously interrupted her unwanted tangle with a Son that certainly wasn't full of joy or glee with news that could only make this situation worse, "Hale's here looking for Tara."

* * *

><p>The bastard still lived.<p>

It wasn't for his lack of trying that was for damn sure, Jax fumed to himself as he barely listened to the cocky salt and pepper haired agent drone on incessantly as the full battery of Clay's injuries were listed. As if he really gave a shit at this point about Clay's medical state beyond the unfortunate knowledge that Jax hadn't pounded the other man six feet under yet.

Dark emotions rolled off him in a slow burn making him stare off into a nefarious world of future retribution until Agent Kohn obliquely asked, "What would Miss Knowles think about all of this?"

Instantly, the law man had his singular focus and unblinking attention as Kohn blithely prattled on, "She is a doctor after all," the other man crooned. "Sworn to do no harm-"

"Tara's not your concern," he roughly cut the ATF man off with a near snarl as his lip edged up in menace.

"See Mr. Crow," the agent patronized him, "Tara never belonged in Charming with the likes of you and it's my duty to see the pretty little surgeon safely returned to her real life in Chicago."

"You want me," Jax threatened with lethal determination, "leave my wife out of this."

"Teller," the lawman enigmatically promised, "You have no idea what I want."

* * *

><p>Tara had been flanked on all sides as she cautiously made her way out of the Son's den of iniquity.<p>

Swiftly, the brunette separated herself from her burly guards and made her way to him. David's keen eye assessed that besides being mildly perturbed, Tara had surely been handled as if she'd been precious and fragile cargo so far. Her fair arms and face were unblemished and her attire was still neat and polished. That was a good sign but his cop's instincts weren't going to let his suspicions go at just a cursory visual this time, he needed a little more confirmation to ease his mind.

Warmly, David greeted her as he pulled off his standard issue shades and Tara teasingly smirked back, "Never expected to see you wearing a hometown police uniform."

"Sure, enough," he grinned at her with camaraderie and understanding. "I didn't expect to see you back in Charming either."

"Yeah," she reluctantly sighed, "I had a little help with that." Before tonelessly adding, "I wasn't really given a choice in all of this."

Guardedly, David nodded toward the yard full of bikers that were not so nonchalantly hanging on every word and nuance of their conversation before he quietly asked, "You being given a choice now?"

Slowly, Tara looked up at him, squinting into the dying embers of the late afternoon sun and smiled. There had been nothing false or for pretense with her previous grin but this time, the easy sentiment didn't fully meet the doctor's eyes as she simply offered, "I'm fine."

"I can help you," he looked past her to stare down the leather clad muscle that had edged closer in tandem with the drop in volume of their conversation.

"That's sweet of you David," Tara purposefully raised her voice more for the benefit of the all too interested men behind her before she assured him. "I really appreciate the concern but I'm fine here."

Carefully, he watched her for another minute, weighing his intuition against her none too convincing claim, but decided against pushing her for the moment. With sincerity, the Deputy Chief offered "I'm sorry for what happened to you."

Tara's spine stiffened a bit before she rudimentarily deflected, "Thank you but that was a long time ago."

Standing before him, seemingly serene and unaffected by his sympathy, it was readily apparent that Tara was a woman who wouldn't brook pity from anyone, even an old friend. "All the same," he stated in a comforting tone, "today couldn't have been easy for you."

For a moment, Tara's jaw clenched so tightly David could have sworn he heard the grind of her teeth over the distant clang of metal and tools coming from inside the open repair bays.

"Again," Tara stammered out as she forced the sorrowful mist from her eyes, "it was nice of you to come by but I'm fine."

Her hurried gate as Tara marched back into the clubhouse with the inner circle of the Son's filing in behind her like ducklings trailing obediently behind their mother looked about as fine as week old road kill. She was precariously maintaining her equilibrium over an emotional precipice that threatened to crush her with one false move but it was obvious Tara didn't want his help yet.

Still, when she did finally reach out, he'd be there. Without question.

* * *

><p>He was sick and tired of being at the ATF's beck and call; Jax needed to get out of this holding cell soon or there would literally be hell to pay. He'd been here far too long already.<p>

"Just tell me what I want to know," Stahl's smooth tone rippled over his flesh like nails grating on a chalkboard, "and I'll let you get back to your reunion with the little misses." A sham look of sympathy plastered on her cold puss as the agent falsely consoled, "Dr. Knowles is probably in need of consolation after today and you definitely need some revenge if your scuffle with Clay earlier is any indication." She smiled knowingly, "And, what better way to make Morrow pay than to roll-over on him?"

His voice rusty and jagged as a dull blade, Jax reiterated across the steel table he was cuffed to, "Like I told your partner before you, Tara isn't your concern."

After his prolonged silence, the blonde made quite a show of closing the legal file in front of her like the agent was confident that her denial would be very short lived, "Well, then, I guess it's time for me to visit the King now."

After a cagey nod to the guard, Stahl purposefully dismissed him with a deceptively cheerful farewell. No matter what that bitch said, Jax doubted that his evening would be good.

* * *

><p>"I didn't do it for any of you," Tara snapped as she brushed her way past the small throng of guys milling around the clubhouse.<p>

No one dared to contradict her as Tara ruthlessly grabbed a drink but their silent toasts of thanks as she popped the cap off her beer told her that they all knew when rubber hit the road, Tara wasn't gonna bounce. She wasn't going to snivel or fold either, no, she'd do her best to soldier through and personally handle her shit.

It's what she'd been doing for the last decade and she'd gotten pretty adept at it by now that's why she was feeling feisty enough to tackle her mother in laws onslaught when Gemma came stomping in like an enraged bull snorting, "Where's the bitch?"

"I love you, Gem," Tig tried to ward off the diva of the MC world, "but I can't let you give her a hard time right now."

"It's okay," Tara levelly contradicted Tig's interference as she swallowed another fortifying swig of her domestic brew and stood her ground.

Testily, Gemma's mouth twitched as she sauntered forward before the older woman cruelly drew first blood, "Was it even Jax's?"

"God, Gemma," she shook her head in exasperation as a multitude of Sons stood at the ready to intervene if their cat fight progressed beyond verbal fisticuffs, "you're the only one delusional enough to ask me that."

"If it was Jax's," the harridan of the biking dynasty provoked, "how come you never told him about what happened? It would have been all you needed to keep him wrapped up in your pussy until-"

"You really are a nasty piece of work," Tara scoffed cutting off what was surely another less than flattering but certainly inflammatory barb from a woman who detested the very breath she drew, "I'd forgotten just how selfish you can be."

"Seems you've forgotten a lot of things, honey," Gemma edged even closer, the threat of more stinging vitriol a sure promise.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten a second of the agony, pain, and bitter loss meted out to me by you through Clays meaty hands," she angrily challenged. "That's right, Gemma, I know," she watched shock and fury dawn across the matriarch's sun ravaged features at her culpability being revealed, "I've always known."

"Gemma," Tig softly questioned in disbelief when the woman he'd thought of as the personification of the ideal woman as she protected their biking family didn't utter a word to gainsay her claim. His look of astonished disillusionment put Gemma immediately on the defensive.

She pursed her lips and then dismissively muttered, "Shit… I didn't know about the baby."

Silent condemnation and clenched jaws of censure wasn't something that Sam Crow's Queen was in the habit of experiencing when she held court but even disgraced, Gemma always came out swinging. "That subpoena was rather convenient for you now wasn't it," she needled looking for anything to redeem herself before the men who'd always stood staunchly behind her.

"There's nothing convenient about being drug across the country to have the worst moments of your life," Tara instinctively paused folding her arms protectively around her middle before she lowly forged on, "your most painfully vulnerable memories paraded out as nothing but legal fodder by some ATF bitch that's got a serious hard on for Sam Crow."

Her pain was palpable, a living entity nearly sucking the fight out of the rough and ready assemblage surrounding her. Scarred boots shifted uncomfortably but the woman who'd helped build the Sons of Anarchy never knew when to surrender as she disparaged without thought, "Clay's in the hospital because of you."

"Yeah, Gemma," she wearily ground out at the other woman's audacity, "this mess is all on me, right, because I worked myself over."

"Don't get clever with me, if you hadn't run off none of this would have happened," the other woman's tone was rife with blame.

"I didn't run off, I went to college just like Jax wanted so I wouldn't have to deal with you all by myself. For some reason," Tara sarcastically continued sweeping the beer bottle she still held out for emphasis, "he didn't trust you not to interfere while he was in Stockton but you won't believe me anyway so why don't you just ask him yourself."

"You miserable little bitch," Gemma charged forward on the attack only to be held off by Opie's large outstretched hand.

Lowly, her childhood friend grumbled down at the woman who'd been a surrogate mother to him, "That's enough."

"No, _no_, it's not nearly enough," Gemma furiously countered trying to move past a mountain of immovable man. "She's trying to destroy my family. She's going to turn Jax against me. She's-"

"You really don't get it do you, Gemma," Tara questioned as she slowly drew her brows together in bewilderment. "I _never_ wanted Jax to know any of this shit."

"Well, you're a little late for tears now aren't you, sweetheart," the older woman callously replied with recrimination, "since you made a private family matter something of public record today."

Suddenly, it was all just too much. Charming. Jax. Gemma. Her baby...

She literally felt the tight iron band that had uncompromisingly kept her temper in reasonable check for years now begin to crack, to stretch beyond its elemental limits, and, then, finally, snap without fanfare or warning as the beer bottle she'd been cradling exploded against the cement wall, shattering her tremulous restraint into tiny, hard, shards as she choked out with brittle accusation, "How the hell was I supposed to tell him something that would break his heart like that?"

Her voice dripped acidic fury as her womanly rage burned on, "How should I have told Jax that the man he'd taken his lead from like a father and his very own mother had betrayed him in such a brutal manner? Tell me, Gemma, should I have dragged my battered form to Stockton on his first visitation day to tell him while he was still on the inside or should I have waited until he got out and just shown him the ugly scars? Please, give me your sage wisdom," she acerbically demanded, "because you may be a cold hearted bitch that doesn't mind causing Jax pain when you think it's in your own best interest but I was never like that."

Silence was an unwelcome answer as Tara brokenly whispered, "How could I tell him something that might make him hate a loyalty to the club that literally flows through his veins?"

Despondently, Tara stumbled away trying to escape the tidal wave of pain that unrelentingly crashed through her as she woodenly muttered to the small crowd of Brothers, "Please, I... I've got to go... I just can't tell him."

"Tara," Opie rushed to gently pull her back, enfolding her small frame in his rugged embrace trying to keep her from breaking from the reality of them completely. "Tara," he softly stated, "Jax already knows."

"No... He ... he knows the facts but it's the details," her voice hitched as the reservoir of misery that flooded her heart finally burst, "those will kill him."


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has commented on or alerted this story in any way. I'm never really certain about what to say or not to say in return but I certainly appreciate knowing how you as a reader react to my crazy musings. Given that my house has fallen into the realm of stomach flu quarantine today with all three of my kids home, this will probably be the only update until next week. Anyways, thanks for reading._

* * *

><p>That uppity bitch hadn't even been back in Charming for twenty four hours yet and she was already ruining everything.<p>

Gemma seethed as she made her way down the sterile hospital corridor. She still couldn't believe that after Tara's self-serving outburst, Piney had slid off his customary stool with a vigor that had long been absent, pinched his oxygen tube ever closer to his nostrils to suck in just enough air to give his statement additional strength and, then, he'd simply dismissed her. The aging co-founder of the Sons, a legendary member of the First 9, had stonily told the Mother Charter's Queen to leave her demesne because Gemma had done enough damage already. There had been an unspoken solidarity between the Brothers as they'd fanned out around Opie and Tara cocooning the distraught woman in the warm blanket of their rough and ready affection.

In their eyes, Tara hadn't been the traitor in their midst tonight and that cut almost as painfully as Jax's banishment.

Swallowing back her bitter anguish, Gemma reluctantly stopped to submit to the cursory pat down and handbag search by the fresh faced recruit assigned to Clay's door before she swept past the newbie badge with her contempt barely concealed. She was full from overly teased head to her sharply polished toes and every tattoo in between of the piss and vinegar of a woman wronged until she caught sight of her husband.

Instantly, her anger was overridden by the sheer magnitude of Clay's injuries. Sure, on some level, she'd known that Jax's ire had been of a rough tenor, an acapella of wrath sung by his swinging fists but this deeply enraged performance wasn't like anything she'd ever heard about from her boy before.

Tenuously, Gemma reached out to softly caress Clay in comfort, to sooth his pain, to reassure him that she was still there for him but looking over her husband's ravaged body, she wasn't certain that even her lightest touch wouldn't cause him excruciating pain. Carefully, she stroked her fingers through his short, steely curls and whispered, "I'm here, Baby, I'm here now."

One eyelid slowly crept open, it was just a slit of recognition amid the upraised and abraded flesh that had misshapen his familiar profile but it was promising all the same. Hoarsely, he strained to greet her and she immediately cooed, "Hush, Baby, we'll get through this like we always do."

"No, Gem," he hurriedly gritted out with too much effort, "Jax-"

"Jax will get past this," she cut him off not willing to let her husband even utter words to the contrary for fear they'd take root in the soil of her doubt and wildly flourish against her wishes. "Eventually, he'll realize you were just making the hard call, what you thought was needed for the Club, and everything will go back to normal."

She nodded at him trying to emphasize her point, needing Clay to affirm her claim but instead a lone tear slipped past the opened sliver of his bruised eyelid as her husband haltingly confessed, "I ... didn't ... stop."

"Didn't stop what," she asked in confusion.

"When I realized," her man croaked out unable to complete his guilty admission.

A coldness she hadn't ever experienced before stilled something deep inside her as Gemma desperately clarified, "Jesus, Clay, you kept beating her even after you knew that she was pregnant?"

Her lawless biker flinched at her raised accusation but he never denied it. Not even once.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry," Tara self-consciously mumbled after she'd pulled back from the broad chest she'd collapsed into earlier. Purposefully, she scraped her disheveled hair back from her face with both hands to gain some semblance of control as she looked up at the man who'd given her unintentional shelter. "Opie, I," she faltered, "I didn't mean to-,"<p>

"It's okay, sweetheart," Piney's thready wheeze held the confidence and command of a battle cry as he nudged her away from his son and toward the back rooms. "You go get yourself cleaned up so you can rest."

Obediently, as if she were a docile child, Tara moved forward in a mechanical daze too overwrought to argue or protest anything else tonight. With unerring accuracy, her feet finally reached the well-known door that was surely a gateway to another lifetime. With tentative fingers, Tara clasped the well oiled knob pausing for one heart pounding second before she swiftly twisted the door open like she was ripping a proverbial band-aid from the tender skin of her past.

Speed hadn't made it any easier to bare as Jax's overwhelming scent assaulted her senses. That all too manly combination of sun warmed leather, faint smoke, and the musk of freedom from the open road battered against her reserve, infiltrated her system, wreaking havoc on her already shaky control as it snuck past her defenses like fragrant little assassins. Killing her delusional hope once and for all that Tara had been gone long enough to forget the aroma that was distinctly and perfectly Jax. The only smell she'd ever known as home.

Shit. This was so not good. Tara hadn't even talked with him yet and her body was already betraying her. What the hell was she going to do when they came face to face in a more intimate setting than a public courtroom because Tara had little doubt by now that it would happen. Jax wouldn't let her leave Charming until it did.

Dejectedly, she trudged into his room too drained to resist further tonight, her heavy footsteps fully absorbed by the same thick carpeting that had given her a series of rug burns back before they'd been able to tighten the bolts on the bed frame and alleviate those embarrassingly telltale squeaks. Those same high pitched creaks that Chibs had mercilessly teased her about just to see her blush while Jax had strutted by all boyishly smug and insanely proud. Sadly, she still wanted to go pop them both one just for the awkward memory that had suddenly resurfaced reigniting her girlhood mortification.

With renewed stamina, Tara entered the en suite bathroom to wash her face and begin settling in for the night. She didn't have her overnight bag with her but figured that since Jax had forced her current accommodations on her, he certainly shouldn't begrudge her the loan of a t-shirt for the night. As she flipped through his dresser, it was painfully obvious that his things were still arranged just as they'd been the last time she had stayed here. The only difference between then and now was that her drawers were conspicuously bereft of her personal belongings.

Catching her pale reflection in the mirror as she flipped the well-worn cotton of the first clean t-shirt she'd found over her head, Tara couldn't help but stare at the nearly pristine picture that was still tacked under the edge of the frame. In some respects, she hardly recognized the youthful image of sheer joy and utter devotion swathed in road worn denim and barely broken-in leather that was spit back at her from astride Jax's bike on their wedding day. They weren't those same seemingly invincible teenagers that had snuck off to the desert to exchange vows anymore.

No, now, they were adults that had endured more than their fair allotment of life's hard knocks and, yet, if she was being painfully forthright, at least to herself while she privately wallowed in memories of her husband, her steadfast heart had never moved past the commitment she'd made to him all those years ago.

Frustrated, Tara plopped herself onto the cleanly made bed that had to be courtesy of Gemma. Although, she was absolutely certain that Jax's mother had never expected her to be sleeping within those crisp hospital corners this evening when she'd lovingly smoothed their surface just right but life usually didn't fall in line as planned.

Now, lying flat on her back, Tara stared up at the American flag Jax displayed lovingly on his ceiling, the same one that the government had tried to drape across his father's casket instead of the man's Sam Crow insignias. With a bittersweet nostalgia, Tara recalled holding the makeshift pole in a death grip as Jax had insisted on letting the stars and stripes fly high and free behind them in the only way that would truly honor his father's life. Tara had been terrified that she would somehow drop it as his bike picked up speed but Jax had never wavered in his faith in her. He'd simply smiled back at her from his side mirror with such certainty that she didn't dare let him down.

There had been a time when she and Jax had nearly been bursting at their seams with their mutual love for each other. It had been crazy, deep, and, sometimes, pushed them to the very brink of sanity but no one ever made Tara feel things as fully or vitally as the tender man beneath the badass biker exterior. She had only been back for a day but, already, her nerves were frayed, tattered, nearly exhausted as if she'd run a marathon full of ragged emotions.

Willfully, Tara forced her eyes closed as she burrowed under Jax's covers hoping to make it all stop for a moment, to make her brain pause enough for sleep to blissfully overcome her, for things to still just long enough for reason to reign her heart back in.

* * *

><p>The annoying blonde draped her willowy frame over the end of his bed and intentionally waited for him to become fully alert like a black widow spider that preferred to eat her pray after she screwed him over.<p>

Instantly, his muscles tensed causing Clay even more pain in his tenuous state but it helped him stay focused on the foul ATF bitch who'd ridden his jock all the way into his current predicament. If Stahl hadn't been digging around in the bloody ghosts of his past, little Tara and her tragedy would have stayed long gone with Jax being none the wiser.

Can't ride," Stahl taunted looking pointedly at the bulky splints that encased his arthritic hands, "can't lead. Isn't that how it goes?"

Silently, he wished the agent dead with every aching fiber of his being as she shrewdly taunted him further, "How long do you think you've got before Jax takes the gavel and then your miserable life?"

"Get out," he grunted in response wondering how long it would take Gemma to get back. If she'd been here, at his side like his Old Lady was supposed to be, she'd have torn Stahl to verbal shreds by now.

With a supercilious slant to her words, the investigator nudged her business card under the edge of his plaster cast and confidently offered, "For when you change your mind."

* * *

><p>The family flaw hadn't killed her and neither would this Gemma promised herself on her way back from the hospital chapel. She'd find a way out of this quagmire just like she had when things with Jax's father had gone sideways all those years ago because she was a born survivor. Nothing was going to change that but that baby, that precious little bundle of unrealized love and hope, would haunt her forever.<p>

Would he have had Jax's charm? Maybe, John's gift with words? Or, even her tenacity? Would his downy head have been covered in a tuft of such sweet softness that he would have instantly forged a spot in her heart that could only be occupied by her first grandchild?

She'd never know for certain now, and, yet, Gemma was sure that he'd already claimed a place of bitter sorrow and regret that would never be eased or forgotten but she couldn't afford to show that weakness to Clay now. No, right now, he needed her as his strong, unified front.

Squaring her shoulders after taking a deep stabilizing breath, Gemma turned the corner just in time to see Agent Stahl leaving her husband's hospital room with smug anticipation smeared across her bony features. Tara might have her faults, Gemma mused, but the girl had never been stupid. Stahl did have a major stiffy for Sam Crow and that bitch would use anything or anyone to satisfy her unquenchable need to bring them all down.

Hurriedly, Gemma rushed past the same guard from earlier holding her cup of coffee out in front of her in supplication to indicate she wasn't bringing in any contraband in an effort to get back to Clay that much sooner. Just as she came through the door, he pointedly asked, "Anyone around?"

"Not yet," she easily dismissed the lack of Sons congregating around their Presidents bedside, "they had a thing." Placating him, she added, "I'm sure they'll be by soon."

There was a telling moment of uneasy silence between them before Tig and Bobby came barreling through the door instantly lifting the mood. For now, there wasn't anything else that Gemma could do other than excuse herself and let the Brothers get back to their business.

* * *

><p>He was pleased to see the distinct glint of moonlight dancing off metal where the armed guards were posted along the compound's rooftops as he approached the relatively quiet clubhouse.<p>

Instantly, it made him feel better about Tara's safety. The innate thought almost made him smile amid the weary shit of the day since there had been such a long period of time that Jax had regretfully faced knowing that he'd never be granted that responsibility again but in just a matter of a few heart wrenching minutes that had all changed.

Slowly, he nodded to Opie as he easily dropped down next to his best friend at the outdoor table and accepted the lit roll he'd been passed to take a hit out of habit just as much as for the mellowing effect.

"Busy day for you, Brother," the other man mentioned in his steady manner as he fingered his beard.

"Yep," he exhaled knowing that that singular word couldn't adequately cover all that had happened but, also, recognizing that even the most verbose novel wouldn't properly convey the kaleidoscope of stinging emotions he'd shifted through today either.

"You okay," Opie asked as he took the glowing ace back.

"I'll get there," he hopefully offered with a twist of his mouth before Jax's gaze shifted around. "Where's Tara?"

"Your room asleep," his best friend significantly reported. "Gemma came by earlier."

"Ah, shit," he replied knowing that Tara and his mother had been like pouring a tanker full of gasoline on an already blazing inferno even on their best days. This wouldn't be good especially after their altercation.

"She and Tara got into it pretty bad," his friend grimly reported in a manner that left little doubt that the Sons of Anarchy were lucky their clubhouse was still standing and that both women weren't occupying matching gowns and gurneys over at St. Thomas. "Piney had to tell her to leave."

"Is Tara okay," he instantly worried.

"Don't know man," Opie honestly replied as smoke billowed from his mouth into the late summer evening. "She seems really afraid to face you. Hap had to keep her from leaving. No rough stuff," he quickly reassured, "but, still, she didn't back down from him either."

A quick snort broke Jax's mounting tension as Opie explained with an amused grin, "Of course, then Tara turned around and stone walled Hale when he showed up looking to rescue her."

"Damn," Jax was suddenly sorry he'd missed that show knowing how the Chief had had such a hard on for Tara back in High School. It would have been fun to see her shut him down once again in what Jax was certain was the politest of ways. The tool had never realized that Tara didn't even feel enough for him to lose her cool but with Jax, well; he fondly remembered a jealous snit at a dance that had her smaller frame angrily tearing at his clothes in a darkened classroom until they were demonstrating their very firm grasp on organic chemistry with every hard thrust.

He'd been relishing the easier memory with a sense of contentment now that his recollections weren't tarnished with the belief that the feeling of unbreakable connection to Tara hadn't been just a horny teenaged delusion on his part when Opie's large frame momentarily blocked out the moon's glow. His burly friend clasped him on the shoulder in Brotherly farewell and meaningfully offered, "I'm headed home to my own woman now. You should too."

"I will," Jax immediately replied liking the knowledge that Tara was already snuggled into his bed a little too much for comfort at the moment. "Hey," he stated before he got too distracted by the rapid constriction of his jeans and Opie left, "we're gonna need Church in the morning because Stahl is definitely up to something by releasing me."

"Already on it," Opie called back with the underlying promise that he'd always have Jax's back when he added. "I made sure that Bobby and Tig reached out to Clay too."

"Thanks, man," he sent back. They were both fully aware that even Jax couldn't kill another Brother without taking it to the table unless his life was in imminent danger especially if that fellow Son was the M.C. President of the Mother Charter. Nobody would necessarily fault him if that had occurred this time given the gruesome truth they'd found out today but it would make for muddy waters all around and could dirty up the tides of trust that flowed freely among the Brotherhood. There was no doubt in either man's mind that Clay should die but Jax had had enough time to cool off just enough to decide to do it right.

"Anytime," Opie yelled over the rumble of his bike.

Before his friend had strapped on his helmet and roared off into the night, Jax had already swept through the heavy clubhouse door with purpose. All eyes were upon him in hushed support as he strode toward the back rooms; his top lip pulling up a little at the edges with pleasure knowing that Tara had already walked this same path earlier in the evening.

Quietly, Jax cautiously opened his apartment door not wanting to disturb Tara's slumber just yet. Her graceful silhouette nestled within his sheets was like a perfect dream he never wanted to wake up from. Reverently, he traced his stiffening bloody fingers along her finely sculpted cheek in near worship as he swept a few delicate strands of unruly hair from her face.

Tonight, Jax didn't want to talk, he didn't even require answers, all he needed was to crawl into his bed next to Tara and hold her like he'd been yearning to do every night since they'd last parted.


	5. Chapter 5

Lazy warmth encircled her in a sleepy embrace, wrapped her in a hazy cocoon of languid pleasure, as Tara nudged her thigh deeper in between the muscled sheets and tried to slip further into the rapture of being back in Jax's well-defined arms.

"Mornin," her burrowing actions were met with that slow, gritty drawl that had haunted too many of her unguarded moments in the past turning her requisite slumber into a nightmare of lost affection.

"Morning," she blissfully returned before the crusts that inevitably formed at the corner of her eyes broke through her fantasy and brought her solitary reality scratching to the surface once more.

"How'd you sleep," his rough whisper coursed over her pliable form to tangle deliciously with their entwined fingers.

"Perfectly," she happily confided knowing that this snoozing intimacy of skin on skin would soon disappear when her hand brushed against the cooler side of the pillow she was obviously draped around instead of the heated flesh her mind had unfailingly conjured. She just needed one more minute of peaceful oblivion, another second of this uncomplicated illusion that so easily wove itself into her dreams before she rose to face another day all alone.

"Me too," he lowly rumbled unexpectedly moving the hard masculine landscape her head had been resting upon. Now jarred awake, Tara groggily opened one suspicious eye to reveal that this Jax was not just part of her wistful predawn musings and he certainly wasn't a figment of her vivid imagination either. Suddenly, Tara realized that the manly terrain under her seeking limbs was all too real and should be tread upon very carefully.

Panicked, she pulled away from his naked frame without thought, abruptly scooting to the edge of the rumpled bed as the doctor put necessary distance between them. Her resolve would have been tested plainly enough if Jax had been fully clothed in the battered cut and requisite baggy jeans he habitually slung low on those powerful hips but this wide expanse of thickly defined masculinity, bared before her like it would always be hers to claim, was an all too dangerous temptation.

"Jax," Tara began with a questioning censure that was adeptly cut off by his sluggish smile and a nodded compliment, "That's a good look for you."

"You would think that wouldn't you," she couldn't help but instinctively challenge the utter male audacity of his statement.

Unhurriedly, Jax reached for the previously abandoned pack of smokes on his nightstand. His long golden strands messily crowned his head beckoning her to reach out and smooth the disarray but, somehow, Tara just couldn't look away from the mesmerizing flex and play of her ink rolling along his forearm as Jax slowly flicked his lighter and drew deeply from his morning cigarette.

"My shirt. My bed," Jax raised his head and meaningfully eyed her as the fumes from his recent drag wafted ignominiously between them. "Yeah, I think that works just fine for me."

* * *

><p>Official paperwork littered the borrowed desk they were using at the local police station but it didn't interest him in the slightest as Kohn paced beside it waiting for his errant partner with growing irritation. Why couldn't the women in his life ever be where they were supposed to be? When he expected them to be there?<p>

Rigidly, his fists clenched at his sides opening and closing in angry tempo with his long gate as he recalled that Tara hadn't been waiting for his escort from the courtroom yesterday as they'd agreed upon before she'd taken the stand. He'd had to step away for an unavoidable call from another field office just as her stoic testimony was concluding but she'd been nowhere in sight by the time he'd gotten back. The courthouse was conspicuously absent one Dr. Knowles, he'd checked. She hadn't been to the hotel room the ATF had provided her either, he'd checked. There had been no hits on her credit cards, he'd checked. She wasn't answering her phone, no matter how many times he called, but it still pinged off the nearest cell tower, he'd checked. And, yet, the locals claimed no knowledge of their homegrown surgeon's current whereabouts. Once again, he'd checked.

Reluctantly, he'd even rattled Teller's cage to see if anything shook free but other than some false posturing on the motorcycle thug's part, he'd come up empty. None of it boded well for Tara's safety, he was worried as an agent and more than a little frustrated as a man to be denied her engaging conversation and her pleasantly reserved company.

Finally, he heard the annoying click of Stahl's heels striding down the corridor and he barked out, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Well," the blonde haughtily greeted back with raised brows, "good morning to you too."

"We don't have time for your shenanigans this morning," he dismissed her unnecessary drama, "I think Tara is missing."

"You mean Dr. Knowles," she gave him a sideways glance in speculation before blithely informing him. "Relax, I released Teller last night, he's probably stalking his wife as we speak."

"What," he exclaimed with irrational anger, "we have a responsibility to ensure her safety and you let that brute out after what he did to Morrow." Warningly, he demanded, "Just what are you up to, June?"

"There's no need to worry about the good doctor now," his partner cagily assured. "She's served her purpose already."

Quickly, Stahl grabbed up a set of files from the desk between them and turned to leave just as he testily demanded, "Where are you going now?"

There was an evil glint coldly burning in her eyes as his ruthless colleague tossed over her lean shoulder, "To fan the flames of mistrust and doubt that little Tara sparked yesterday."

* * *

><p>"That's what you've got to say to me, after everything," Tara's voice involuntarily hitched as he quickly snubbed out his butt, "you lay one of your glib lines on me as if nothing happened." She scoffed with disdain, "You're all class, Teller."<p>

"No, Babe, we are going to talk about this," Jax insisted with clear promise as he leaned forward on the bed shifting even closer to her, "but we both know that you'll only tell me what I really need to know when you're ready."

At his confident prediction, Tara visibly swallowed back a glimmer of instantaneous fear. Tentatively, tenderly even, he forged ahead cupping her fine boned cheeks with his work roughened hands. "I'm sorry," he achingly apologized for the mistakes of his past, "I know that it was all my fault."

Yearning, uncertain, almost desperate, poured over him from Tara as she hesitantly leaned into the tenuous comfort of his touch, anguish forcing her tearfully whispered plea, "Oh, God, Jax, I ... It wasn't your-"

"Shhh," he lulled her, naturally pulling Tara flush against him, not wanting her to hurt alone anymore. Their foreheads slowly brushed against one another, seeking fingers slid reassuringly down silken hair, soft lips unintentionally grazed whiskered skin as a sneaky need for more than consolation whispered over them. "Shhh. Please, Babe," he painfully begged to staunch her whimpered cries of misery, "it'll be okay."

Her shapely body nearly trembled in visceral reaction to his claim, to his proximity, to his mere touch. His mirrored hers, vibrating with longing, with the intense need to enfold Tara in the soothing balm of his embrace and love her through the pain. Then, suddenly, his arms were empty.

Tara was gone.

She'd swiftly retreated from him leaving Jax alone, bereft in a tangle of bedding, as she silently escaped into his bathroom. Frustrated, Jax sighed knowing that it wasn't an overwhelming need to crack morning porcelain that had sent her scurrying there. Years ago, his girl would have given him a good shove to accompany her snippy comment earlier but, now, Tara mutely barricaded herself within the minimal solace of his john instead of facing him.

He'd hated seeing that small, scared expression momentarily pass over her features knowing that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it yet. Opie was right, Tara was definitely afraid to tell him something but he didn't have any other choice here but to wait it out. If he pushed her now, Tara would either flea further than the can connected to his room or whatever emotional intimacy they did share would just be a fool's oasis, a false sense of security amid the scorching heat of problems that faced them from all sides. He didn't want a fake connection. He didn't want the useless mirage of store front pretty. He wanted Tara, his woman; raw, open, and bleeding her secret pains all over him. That was the only way the doctor would ever let him truly heal what lay broken between them.

Under the cover of darkness, Jax's despairing hands had held Tara close as he tried to drown himself in her cleansing scent as if it would wash away the stench of betrayal that now clung to his life. Somehow the forlorn boy she'd left behind had foolishly built up fanciful notions of Tara awakening to pliantly offer her tender mercies to a husband starved for his wife's long withheld affection but, in the dead of night, the hardened man he'd become had known that nothing with Tara would ever be that easy.

Pain. Disappointment. Heartache. Those crippling emotions stood between them now along with a soul destroying grief that still needed to be shared. Jax knew that he would eventually get his answers, find his solace with Tara again but, right now, he just needed to keep her from running. He needed to prove to his wife that she still had a place here with him. If he could do that, then, ultimately, they'd have all the time they needed to work out the rest.

Resolutely, Jax slipped from their bed as he heard the shower start. Haphazardly, he shrugged on yesterday's discarded jeans so that he could quickly head down the dingy hallway towards the clubhouse kitchen. By now, there'd be some hot coffee brewing and he'd grab Tara a mug full. Maybe, when she was finished hiding under the spray of his shower head, Jax would tease her about the two sugars he'd added just to see if she'd still give him shit about the creamer he'd always preferred. If he was lucky, his woman would rise to the easy bait and banter that had always been part of them as they blindly felt their way into their new future. He needed to remind her that things could be good between them again and, maybe, he needed to convince himself of that as well.

Fate had given him this shot to get her back, to do them better somehow, to make sure that Tara never stayed gone again. Jax might not have everything figured out just yet but one thing was certain, he wasn't going to do anything to fuck up his second chance at perfection.

* * *

><p>Ignoring his partner's latest ruse, Kohn marched toward the stalwart Deputy Chief he'd met yesterday and summarily ordered, "We need to put out an APB on Dr. Tara Knowles. She was a subpoenaed witness in the federal case against the Sons of Anarchy yesterday and she seems to have disappeared from the courthouse."<p>

Surprise flashed across Hale's clean cut features but he didn't hustle to follow through on the command.

"Get to it," Kohn reiterated his edict. "She needs to be located for her own well-being."

Instead, the officer tilted his head to the side and reluctantly stated, "Relax, I spoke with her late yesterday, after all of the courtroom drama, and Tara was relatively okay."

"What does that mean," he questioned uneasily. "Was she alright or not? And, where was she?"

The answer obviously still rankled his fellow lawman as Hale admitted, "She was at the clubhouse surrounded by a small army of Sons intent on keeping her there until Jax returns. The whole town knows they're holding her there but there's nothing to be done if Tara doesn't speak up against them."

Jealous fury, white hot and fuming, followed his hasty departure from the precinct. Kohn knew that small town enforcement like Hale might not be able to something but a Fed like him certainly could.

* * *

><p>Tara desperately needed to check back into her own life; the one she'd meticulously built in Chicago before she forgot all about her sheltered existence there. A place where her busy colleagues didn't look past the dedicated surgeon to see the shattered woman underneath those anonymous scrubs or demand hard truths from her. A setting where the only thing Tara needed to share was the miraculous talent of her highly skilled hands and not the excruciating follies of her youth.<p>

Automatically, Tara swept her towel dried hair behind her ear and reached for her abandoned phone. She needed the distraction and routine of checking her various messages to further steady her nerves. Efficiently, she scrolled through her cue noting that there were a few patient related ones that she'd need to return soon. Mostly, they were just status updates that the well trained staff knew she'd want to be kept abreast of regardless of Tara's impromptu trip because it was still her duty and responsibility to oversee those children's medical needs if she could. The task of returns would be mundane, wrote even, and ground her in the familiar drudgery of her profession.

With purpose, her adroit thumbs started to fly over the phone's keyboard dispatching her work quickly until her brows drew together in consternation at the alarming volume of calls logged from an unknown number that Tara didn't recognize. Somebody must have gotten their digits transposed while being an avid user of redial or it was just some random drunk dialing, it had happened before but never to this extreme. Lost in her puzzled thoughts, she almost missed Jax's return.

His chiseled physique, honed from long grueling hours of riding and even harder rumbling, greeted her warmly as he pressed a steaming mug of liquid ambrosia into her free hand. Wary, striving to maintain the professional persona that had become her second nature, Tara slowly accepted it with an impartial but cordial, "Thanks."

"Anytime, Babe," Jax shot her that boyishly dimpled grin that had always gotten to her and she took a cautious sip of her coffee to cover her instantaneous reaction. Unfortunately, her taste buds were bombarded with the sweet knowledge that Jax remembered exactly how she took her morning brew.

With forced detachment, she raised her mug a little to recognize his kindness and offered, "This was nice of you."

"Tara," he began but she cut him off. She didn't want to hear whatever appeal Jax put forth because here fractured soul just couldn't handle it right now. Instead, she took a fortifying breath and levelly stated, "It's time I headed back to Chicago."

"Tara, stay, don't leave me," came Jax's immediate rebuttal rife with strained worry. "Babe, we haven't settled things between us yet, you can't go." His first plea silently ripped through the false facade of reserve she'd been trying to erect with him and echoed her heart's crying demand to her lifeless child all those years ago.

"Jax," Tara hoarsely implored him to understand her desperate need to flee to emotionally safer territory, "I think it's for the best." She continued muttering with her head downcast in fearful shame, "I really lost it with your Mother last night and I just think-"

"Yeah, so did I," his meaningful interruption surprised her as Tara rapidly looked up at him in unspoken question.

His beautiful face was full of rugged determination as Jax promised, "We're going to fix this."

"Jax," she unwontedly denied him, her eyes brimming with remorse, "there's no going back."

"You're right," he roughly agreed with equally piercing intensity, "this can't be that but it's going to be something."

Unexpected hope barreled through her, tearing the cracks in her internal walls of protection wide open, leaving her nearly defenseless against the gaping hole of unfulfilled dreams that swiftly found sure footing again in her heart. Before she could stop it, years of guarded separation fell away until they were stripped to their very cores, down to the marrow of a boy humbly seeking out his girl and Tara feared that it was already too late for her. That it had always been too late as the elemental pull tugged at her and Tara was simply lost in all that was Jax again.

Regretfully, he admitted not even realizing that he didn't need additional leverage to sway her to stay a little longer, "The truth is Tara, I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to after yesterday. People know that you're still connected to me and you'd be unprotected back in Chicago." His eyes begged her to comply, "We've got some business going on that could make things unfriendly for you even back in the heartland."

She stared at him long and hard before uttering her objection, "This is bullshit, Jax. This is just an excuse," she pitifully tried to argue against the inevitability of him. "We both know that nothing is going to happen to me."

"That's right," he cockily assured her before leveling her with solemn truth, "because you're going to be right here in Charming with me where you belong."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Sorry about the delay. I've been down for the count with the second round of stomach flu to rock our little world. Hopefully, I've got enough electrolytes back to finally string a few coherent words together but I can't think of a less than fun way to spend Spring Break so far. Anyway, a bright spot has been reading some very thoughtful reviews, I truly appreciate it. Thanks._

* * *

><p>Resistance was futile.<p>

The annoyingly trite chant ran through Tara's mind like a freight train, constantly battering against her dwindling control over her precarious emotional state, leaving her without much track to work with but she still tried to slam on the breaks anyway as self-preservation became paramount.

"Jax, you don't understand," Tara tried to quell the rising suspicion that she might actually be the one that lacked comprehension for even trying to change his mind. "I'm a doctor, a neonatal surgeon," she stressed the severity of her responsibilities now, "I can't just spend my days in Charming on the back of your bike."

He just smirked in answer; long, slow, and all too knowingly, "You miss it."

"That's not the point," she quickly chided but conspicuously didn't deny his claim. It would just be a blatant lie anyway because they both recalled just how much she had dearly loved riding with him, instead, she unequivocally stated, "I have a career back in Chicago."

"And," Jax dismissed her very serious and mature stance with a tone that was clearly a verbal shrug of indifference.

"And, what," Tara petulantly demanded finally losing her false reserve. Her exasperation with his single mindedness combined with her fraying nerves to create a much more volatile reaction than was appropriate for the collected demeanor she wanted to present to Jax.

"Tara, you can be a doctor anywhere," Jax soothingly instructed like he was talking to a skittish colt that just needed to be reassured and pacified before it could be docilely led around by the bit, "and St. Thomas is right down the street. There's no reason for you to leave."

Confounded, Tara stared at Jax for what felt like an eternity trying to put the pieces of their strained puzzle together into some meaningful order, to make sense of what he'd really been trying to tell her since she unexpectedly awoke in his warm arms this morning. Misgivings naturally coursed through her just like the elemental blood pumping through her veins giving life to her burgeoning fear; that her stubborn husband simply refused to see that their lives just didn't fit together now, that he was in denial that they're paths had diverged long ago forever leaving them both walking their own broken paths alone.

Time had stopped, expanded, twisted even, as Jax uncertainly waited for her response in a room that had virtually become a shrine from a better era of their relationship. The moment stretched, pulled taught with expectation and, then, finally, something indefinable snapped, shattered within his desperately hopeful blue depths plunging her into helpless action as Tara reluctantly conceded. "Fine, I can probably stay a few more days," she hedged, "but that's it."

The sheer relief that washed over Jax at her concession had Tara cautiously adding for both their sakes, "Chicago Presbyterian doesn't expect me back yet and I need to deal with my Dad's estate stuff anyway. Might as well handle that since I'm already here and then I won't have to return to Charming again."

It was patently clear to both of them that she was trying to place unbreakable rules, limits on either of their expectations about her prolonged stay, however, they were also equally aware that there wasn't a law Jax wouldn't break if he really wanted something badly enough. He'd have no compunction about trespassing beyond the gates that guarded her inner turmoil to steal away her reservations about their future. It was a thoroughly disconcerting notion but something still kept Tara tethered to her short-term commitment regardless.

Besides, it wouldn't do either of them any good to have a lawless biker recklessly riding through the tranquility of her existence in Chicago if she returned to the windy city without his grudging acceptance. It was a flimsy justification but she was mentally clinging to it with a tenacious white knuckled grip. Her internal struggle was abruptly interrupted when Jax sidestepped her conditional reason for remaining in California and offered earnest condolences, "Sorry about his passing."

"Why," her brows instantly drew together in surprised question, "he was a neglectful drunk who hated you."

"Maybe," Jax ran a hand nervously down his short beard clearing the way for his rocky admission, "but he missed you after you left. He didn't understand why you'd gone." Jax's tenuous voiced dipped low with obvious discomfort, "And, it hurt him that you didn't ever reach out to him."

The pained sincerity in his sentiment made it all too clear that they weren't just talking about her deceased father's feelings here. Ignoring the magnitude of Jax's emotions for the moment because that was an all too slippery slope that would more than likely leave her flat on her ass, Tara inquired, "How do you know that about him?"

Trying to make it appear offhand, Jax casually mentioned, "We shared a beer or two over the years."

Somehow, Tara suspected that Jax didn't want her to understand that the devil may care biker he'd been had sporadically checked in on her ailing father just to commiserate with the one other person in Charming who might understand just how much her absence haunted him. It was oddly sweet given the men's mutual animosity toward each other and she couldn't help but gratefully express, "Thanks for being there for him."

"Sure," Jax's jaw clenched in stilted response before he muttered, "It's just good that you're home now."

Obviously, he wanted to say something else, something infinitely more but Jax forestalled whatever it was by nodding toward the open bathroom door, "I should grab a shower."

Tara didn't even have a chance to excuse herself, to give him even a modicum of privacy- something that Jax obviously didn't want- before he purposefully let the worn denim slide down his hips to land unceremoniously on the floor. Unabashedly, he sauntered into the bathroom wearing nothing but the tantalizing ink that adorned all too distracting flesh that time apart had merely perfected.

Jax had always been more adept with actions than words and, clearly, the man didn't want any boundaries between them.

* * *

><p>The monotonous blips and beeps of the hospital monitors were about as grating on her constitution as the bitter swill they tried to pass off as coffee but Gemma came from a rather sturdy lot and she'd been through this tedious drill before. It wasn't the first time she'd played the loyal Old Lady at her husband's bedside, sacrificing her comfort for the appearance of dedication, but it would certainly be the last.<p>

As the night had relentlessly worn on, Gemma had pitifully measured her life's choices against each of Clay's labored breaths and incoherent moans of pain. She'd tallied every lie and catalogued every sin until well past dawn, yet, no matter how she justified or excused the atrocity she'd unknowingly had a guiding hand in- the scales never balanced- she was left with the heavy weight of that baby crushing her.

Justice wasn't blind; merely a cunning bitch just waiting until she could serve up her own special brand of insidious torture to those who'd foolishly thought they were above her petty rules and wrathful condemnation. And, now, it was Gemma's turn to pay with endless regret and shameful remorse for her misjudgment. No matter how she tried, the deep abyss of soul destroying misery that had mercilessly greeted Gemma from behind her son's cell bars was now permanently etched upon her maternal heart leaving scars that would never fully heal.

Uncomfortably, Gemma shifted in her hard backed chair knowing now, after hours of self-recrimination, that she was damned regardless of what she did because none of them were coming out of this unscathed especially Clay. With feigned concern, she caught her husband's haggard gaze knowing that it was finally time to discuss the doctor's assessment and pointedly asked, "What should I do, Baby?"

There was a tenor of fear she'd never heard in his raspy voice before as Clay worriedly ordered, "You gotta keep this between us for as long as you can."

"Alright, Baby," Gemma nodded her assurance as she rose to stand beside his gurney like a stoic sentinel. Slowly, she adjusted the crinkled sheet under his splints with great care and managed not to jostle his ravaged hands too much. Then, solicitously, she smoothed a tender caress over his battered jaw and gently cupped his bruised face in her palms. Looking him dead in the eye, she steadily offered, "I love you, Clay."

"Love you too," he gratefully whispered back not noticing the disconnect apparent in her tone. "Don't know what I'd do without you."

Instantly, Gemma returned his admission with a wizened smile and firmly replied, "I know, Baby. Don't you worry," she promised with a light pat, "I'll handle this."

Purposefully, she snatched up her handbag and clutched it tightly under her arm as she sidled toward the thick wooden door. Before she pulled it open, Gemma helpfully reminded him, "I'll send Filthy Phil in on my way out and I'll be back right after I take care of a few things at the garage."

"Gemma," his hoarse call stopped her momentarily. She turned to see the uncertainty plastered across his face more starkly than the white casts on his body and she knew that Clay was rightfully scared for they both knew what would happen now if the Club found out that their disgraced President had a dead grip.

* * *

><p>"We got Church," Jax announced; possessively placing his hand on Tara's hip and giving her a quick peck on the cheek before she could object. Naturally, he smirked at her gasped indignation as he walked away and ordered with a cocky nod, "Half Sack, stick with Tara."<p>

He trusted her word, Tara wasn't going to impetuously change her mind just because she was irked at the liberty he'd just taken in the middle of a clubhouse full of his Brothers but it wouldn't hurt to have eyes on her just in case. He wasn't kidding earlier that people, the dangerous sort, would already know that Tara was married to him after yesterday, and he didn't want anyone, including his mother, having an easy time approaching her.

Behind him the heavy wooden doors shut with a clamor as his Brothers rowdily shuffled to their regular seats. There was an awkward moment when he plopped down in his usual chair instead of the head of the table as almost anticipated but his Brothers simply took it in stride, lighting cigarettes here and there, as they waited.

With strangled emotion, Jax slowly exhaled, "I've got to extend thanks for helping me deal with my unexpected domestic situation."

"No problem, Brother," Chibs' heavy accent swirled around his words, "I always liked Tara."

"Awe, man," Tig chimed in, "anytime. We like the Doc."

Unexpectedly, Happy grunted from the opposite corner of the table, "She's got grit."

The gruff compliment ricocheted around the ornately carved table as his Brothers nodded or drummed their hands against the table in unison. The raucous commotion continued until Piney eyed him, the older man's steely tone cutting through the smoky haze with conviction. "Whatever you need, Son," he paused to underscore the commitment, "it's yours."

"Thank you, Piney," Jax humbly nodded as he looked around the room full of burly solidarity. "Thanks, boys."

Finally getting down to Club business he briskly stated, "We're going to need a meet with Romeo, probably some face time with the Irish as well," he added, " just to assure everyone that Sam Crow will still run this deal on a Club level."

"Yeah," Opie automatically agreed motioning between him and the Scotsman, "Chibs and I can set it up."

"Good," Jax flattened out his lips before leveling, "Whatever Stahl's up to, it ain't gonna be good."

"Clay had her card at the hospital last night," Bobby anted up as a collective groan could be heard around the room. "And he's in a real bad way."

"She already tried to work my beef with Clay last night," Jax unpleasantly confirmed not wanting to get into the way he'd beaten Clay nearly to death at the moment or else his simmering temper might come to a boiling rage all over again. "She's probably doing it with him too."

"Damn, Stahl is trying that rat shit again by releasing Jax," Bobby pegged the situation accurately bringing up another set of painful memories that the Club Members didn't want to delve into just yet even as a heavy pall settled over the room.

"We're gonna need to bring Clay closer while he's healing, man," Tig added with a shake of his head. "This is bad shit, the bitch is gonna think we're weak," the Sergeant at Arms added with absolute confidence in the man who'd been his sponsor, "but he won't deal."

"We aren't weak," Jax ground out a hard message and none of his Brothers averted their eyes; they met his claim full on with sure acceptance. "The thing with Donna," his gaze darted to Opie with mutually shared hatred now for a man they'd once loved and respected, "obviously wasn't the only time Clay crossed the line, he's been doing it for years."

Grim faces, some surreptitiously looking and others blatantly staring, watched him as Jax demanded, "What are we gonna do about it?"

There were long moments of uncomfortable silence before Juice tentatively asked, seeking support from his fellow members for the logic in the question as he sputtered, "What if we can't make the Cartel and Irish hook-up without Clay?"

"We deal as a Club, we'll make it work," Jax stonily assured them as his Brothers tacitly agreed with the unspoken decision hanging heavy in the room. Nobody wanted to make the call for a vote yet but they weren't backing away from it either because their President no longer deserved that patch.

They'd move when he did and Jax was about to utter the words of retribution that would rightfully strip Clay of what he treasured most in this world when a sharp knock intruded upon the sanctity of their meeting. Miles, one of the new Prospects apologetically glanced toward him before spitting out, "Jax, Half Sack sent me in because there's some ATF guy here hassling Tara."

* * *

><p>The smell of ripe male permeated the small meeting room as June offered without even an ounce of regret, "Sorry for interrupting your morning yard time, Otto."<p>

The heavily tattooed inmate just stared back at her indifferently as she slowly opened the case file in front of her until his good eye caught sight of the grizzly crime scene photos that had previously been camouflaged by the benign pressboard cover. One by one, she slowly splayed out his wife's last time in front of a camera vividly before him on the table in all its bloody detail. The big man tried not to react but there was no mistaking the liquid seeping from both eyes as the agent coyly asked, "Did your Brothers ever get you closure for your loss?"

She mercilessly mocked his silence, "I'm guessing not."

His big hands came up to partially cup his ears over the knit cap Otto was wearing like the double layers would somehow block out her harsh truth as she prodded, "Awful stuff, gruesome shit even." Her brows rose in false sincerity, "There was an interesting DNA find when the coroner did LuAnn's autopsy that your loyal Brothers understandably wouldn't have shared with you." She paused; letting morbid curiosity build in the sweltering box, "Did you know that Robert Munson was tapping your bitch?"

Instantly, Big Otto's eyes landed coldly on hers making June feel like the incarcerated biker could have ended her life with just the frigid chill emanating from their icy depths as she cunningly added, "Bobby may have been fucking LuAnn but beating a woman to death seems more like Clay's style of handiwork." She questioned significantly, "You did hear about what happened to your V.P.'s Old Lady when he thought she'd crossed an unforgivable line, right?"

Speculation, dark and dangerous, suddenly rippled over Otto's rangy form making him quiver with unleashed rage and June nearly cackled in triumph, "Well, I should be heading back to Charming now but," she nodded toward the casework still littering the table between them, "I'll let you keep this copy. I've got to warn you though," her mouth dropped into a frown, "it makes for pretty scary bed time reading."

She confidently strode away, leaving the grieving husband to review all that was included in the police file and all that his Brothers had purposefully withheld from the investigation, even from one of their very own. Just as she slipped out the door, June caught Otto's inked forearm, the one blatantly dedicated to his deceased wife, reach past the nasty pictures to the reports buried underneath their glossy brutality.

_Gotcha_, the agent smugly grinned over her shoulder knowing that once Otto rolled, the rest of the Sons would fall as quickly as a cheerleader's spanks at Homecoming. She might even have to give her crowning thanks to Dr. Knowles for making this dance possible because without her tragic testimony, June wouldn't have had the same leverage for manipulating the stronghold's within the Sons of Anarchy, to topple their pillars of strength, and bring their so called loyalty crashing down upon their heads like meaningless parade confetti that lay forgotten in the dirty gutter for days until it was finally swept into the trash for good.

* * *

><p>The square was already rife with tension when Jax barreled through the clubhouse door, his patched Brothers naturally falling into brawling formation behind him. Suddenly, Tara felt an annoying sense of deja vu instead of appreciation for the concern posed by lawmen over the past few days. Then, she felt nothing but absolute fury when the salt and pepper haired ATF man reached out to extend an all too proprietary arm around her stubbornly set shoulders in a rather vain attempt to lead her toward his waiting vehicle.<p>

"Get your hands off her," each word pumped lowly from Jax's mouth like shotgun blasts, creating a testosterone fueled stand-off in the early California sun between her husband who clearly had no intentions of letting her be whisked out of Charming and Agent Kohn who was taking his civil duty far too seriously.

"Please, stop," she purposefully stepped out of the lawman's unwanted embrace before continuing to defuse the situation, "there's really no need for any of this because I'm fine here, Agent Kohn."

Tense, she still tried to remain congenial through the ATF agent's insulting threat, "You don't have to be afraid of them, Tara. I can arrest the unsavory lot of them for kidnapping or unlawful imprisonment at the very least."

Swallowing back her angry rebuttal, knowing that this situation required a calmer head than Jax was evidently capable of at the moment given his rigidly clenched jaw and equally tight fists, Tara raised a hand in surrender and offered a sham apology, "I'm sorry that I neglected to inform anyone from your office of my intentions to stay with friends and family last night, Agent Kohn, but-"

"Josh," he oddly interrupted her once again to insist that she use his first name.

"Josh," she placated with a near wince, "I appreciate your concern but it's probably best if you left now."

The older man looked directly at Jax, visibly daring him, before Kohn once again invaded her personal space and offered with undue intensity, "If you need anything, call me."

Before she could adequately respond, Jax had roughly bumped his way between them, unbalancing the ATF agent in the process as he slowly menaced, "She told you that she was fine. Now leave my wife alone."

An eerie half-smirk crept along Kohn's features as he righted himself, looked Jax squarely in the face, and promised. "I'm not leaving Dr. Knowles," he stressed her maiden name just to further piss on her husband's territory, "alone until she's safely back in Chicago and free of you."

Knowing that she had to do something quickly before this turned downright bloody, Tara stepped to Jax's side and declared in a razor sharp tone, "No one has a say in what happens between me and my husband but us, Agent Kohn, and unless you've got a warrant, it's well past time for you to leave."


	7. Chapter 7

Uneasily, Jax watched the compact hatchback pull out of the Teller-Morrow lot before he bent to retrieve Tara's travel case from the oil stained concrete. Instead of allowing him the caring masculine gesture, his wife hastily snatched the bag from his grasp, the one the ATF douche had very reluctantly left behind, and mutely slung the duffel over her shoulder before simply walking away.

Not that Jax hadn't always been an avid admirer of Tara's well shaped backside, especially in those same inky pants from yesterday that scrolled along her matured curves to perfection, however, in this instance; he wasn't particularly a fan of her giving him the cold shoulder when he hadn't done a damn thing wrong.

"Tara," he strained for her name to be heard without yelling over the noisy shop work that had already resumed in the open bays behind them but her normally slow rolling gate only picked up speed until Jax had to lunge forward to keep abreast of her. "Tara," he tried again to get her to respond as they wove their way through a courtyard full of his Brothers, all of whom were lingering, keenly watching their exchange as if they were the latest contestants in the Club's regular fight nights.

Finally, exasperated, he grabbed for her hand making Tara pull up short, nearly knocking the overstuffed bag off her shoulder with the jerking motion as Jax disjointedly soothed, "Babe, come on, say something."

Suddenly, after scurrying away to avoid this discussion, Tara was more than ready to talk as she glared at him with more burning intensity than the California sun that had warmly kissed her pale skin and heatedly demanded, "What were you thinking, Jax?"

"He was giving you a hard time, had his hands on you," Jax automatically shot back not getting how Tara didn't comprehend that he'd just naturally acted in the only way he knew to protect her. The furious vulnerability that laced his tone was about so much more than that prick Kohn as he ran a frustrated hand down his whiskers and dangerously leveled, "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again."

"God, Jax," her brows puckered in disbelief at his promise, "he works for the ATF, he's not going to hurt me."

Whether Tara realized it or not, Jax wasn't going to lose this argument; he'd never thought that his own step-father would ever harm her either but someone he'd trusted without reservations had viciously brutalized Tara when he'd been helpless to stop it. He would never concede that some random guy might not do likewise after that and, instinctively, Jax knew that there was something off about that Fed. Instead of explaining it all to a girl who'd always been too headstrong for her own good, he simply warned, "He's too interested in you."

"He was doing his job," Tara contradicted with arm crossed incredulity. "My departure from the courthouse was abrupt, Jax, suspicious even," she instructed with understated sarcasm, "especially since I didn't even bother to collect my luggage prior to leaving thanks to your Brothers." Expectantly, she prodded him, "He's law enforcement and it seemed that I was missing, what was he supposed to do?"

"Not make comments about things that don't concern him," Jax meaningfully reminded Tara of her own rather beautiful dismissal of the ATF thorn in their proverbial side. He'd never admit it to another soul, especially one of his hardened Brothers still taking up ringside seats to their confrontation, but nothing had ever made him feel like more of a man than when Tara got ballsy with her own feminine strength and referred to him as hers- boyfriend, Son, husband- they all worked for him at his core. That possessive claim brought out a deeply rooted pride, a surge of masculine honor, a heated flair of elemental rightness that empowered him down to the marrow of his bones.

He wasn't going to allow anything else to come between them now, least of all some annoying dick with a federal badge, because they had enough real shit to deal with already. Serious things that he and Tara hadn't had time to work through yet and if Kohn insisted on preying on that limited chance with his harassing bullshit, Jax had no problem with the Fed getting an up close and personal introduction to his fists but Tara obviously did.

"That really didn't mean anything, Jax," she offhandedly sputtered. "You have to realize that he's intentionally using me just to get a rise out of you," she returned pointedly, challenging his innate reflex to brawl in her defense when he should be using his brain instead of brawn.

"Obviously, it worked," he couldn't resist needling his feisty brunette as he intimately grinned down at her with an unrepentant appeal that had always gotten under Tara's skin and significantly whispered in her ear, "because there's never gonna be a time when you don't make a part of me rise."

"Jax," she immediately chastised him by pulling away slightly but familiar embers of long dormant satisfaction flickered to life in her verdant gaze, making them both all too aware that she wasn't at all embarrassed or put off by his innuendo like she wanted it to appear, no, his woman was sinfully pleased even if she really didn't want to be.

After a long pensive look, filled with multiple layers of uncertainty, fear, and equally distressing feelings he didn't want to name yet, Tara quietly pled, "What are we really doing here, Jax?"

He was fully aware that she'd been on a roller coaster of colossal emotions since returning to Charming yesterday, the dizzying ride never slowing down as his ticket had been punched right along with hers but he couldn't let her off no matter how many dips and turns they took, no matter how much it made their hearts ache and their stomachs pitch at times. Somehow, he knew, if they just clung to each other through this twisted mess, they'd manage to survive.

His voice rough with emotion, Jax reassured her as much as himself, "We're just taking a minute to figure it all out."

* * *

><p>The inside of their Hummer suddenly seemed cramped and stuffy as Torres turned to him with a phone still stuck to the younger man's ear and quietly intoned, "We might have a problem."<p>

Silently, Romeo placed his large hands on his thighs just above the end of his leather blazer and waited. Whatever it was, it had Luis twitchy enough to give his superior a heads up while still gathering intel instead of dealing with the issue directly on his own. After a moment, Torres heavily sighed before spilling the information, "Clay Morrow was nearly beaten to death by his V.P. last night because Teller found out Morrow tried to kill his estranged wife a decade ago."

"What," Romeo's craggy features raised in disbelief as he demanded, "will Clay live?"

"It looks that way," Luis stated, "but it probably won't matter, the preliminary medical reports all show that his hands suffered too much damage."

His eye scrunched up in immediate speculation at that mention, "The Sons will have to vote in a new leader."

"It looks that way," Torres easily agreed.

"Fine," he assessed the potential impact on their deal, "I want a meeting with Teller right away. Then I want everything about the heir apparent this time around and his Old Lady. No more surprises."

"When we're done, we'll know everything there is to know about Dr. Knowles too," Torres calmly assured him.

* * *

><p>After Tara had retreated to the safety and solitude of the clubhouse, Jax sat in the relative shade of the overhang with his Brothers wishing that she'd bring her fiery reaction back since it made him burn with hope. He'd gotten a glimmer of his Tara, sharp as her surgeon's scalpel and not afraid to go toe to toe with him before she slipped away behind a questioning mask of self-protection once again. It wasn't that he didn't care for her new calm and steady demeanor because Jax found her reserve rather intriguing, sexy even, except when Tara was deliberately using it to shield herself from him which was already happening far too much for his liking.<p>

"She made a good point, Brother," Opie's level tone broke into his thoughts. Slowly, his best friend took another long, thoughtful drag before smoke billowed around his statement as he exhaled, "He really is just trying to piss you off and with all that's going down right now, we sure as shit don't need to provoke another ATF bitch."

His fellow patches snickered at the derogatory and emasculating reference to Kohn and even made snide jokes of their own but still, in the end, they looked to him expectantly for direction. If he wanted them to leave the bloody impressions of their steel toed boots up and down the ATF agent's carcass like a connect the dots of misery, the man would be aspiring to be road kill by evening but would that really be best for the Club?

"Maybe," he gritted out still not liking the thought of Kohn anywhere near Tara for any reason.

"Bro, Doc just threw the bastard off the property by his legal balls," Juice stated with a mix of childish wonderment and jovial admiration. "He's not coming back."

"If he becomes a real threat," Happy gravelly concluded, "we'll deal with it."

"Yeah, we will," Jax heavily confirmed just as Chibs finished up his phone call and rejoined their group around the picnic table looking to share news about one of the Club's more pressing matters, their impending weapons deal.

"Jackie Boy," he quickly informed, "Cameron set a meet for tomorrow night. It's an advance thing before Galen and the others arrive."

"We'll be there," he readily agreed knowing that brokering this exchange stabilized Sam Crow's position. They had a few legitimate businesses- the garage, a porn studio, a few protection runs- but their main source of revenue had been guns for years now. Once this arrangement was solidified, they'd be making big money and be able to diversify even more. Eventually, maybe even, move away from the heavy risk of black market weapons altogether but his father's rightful legacy was years down the road if ever.

First, they needed this hook-up to stay whole and he'd handle the rest later. Wisely, he reminded the Scotsman, "I'm gonna need you there to translate the Irish."

"Okay, kid," Chibs affirmed without hesitation just as his cell started ringing. Quickly, Jax grabbed the prepay from his jeans pocket and flipped it open to hear a summons from Torres, one of Romeo's men in the Galindo cartel, and, without question, he swiftly agreed to the request knowing that denial wasn't really an option.

Nodding toward the guys, he easily ordered, "We'll deal with the vote later. Romeo wants to meet now. Tig, Chibs, and Hap, you're with me."

The guys instantly started toward their bikes as he gave additional instructions to the others, "Bobby and Juice, go check in at the hospital, relieve the Prospect for a bit." He strenuously bit out a reminder, "Business as usual."

"You got it," Juice jumped into action while Bobby lumbered off toward the line of Harley's at a slower pace but still leaving him facing the Winston men alone. Cautiously, Opie asked with confusion, "Sure you don't want me there?"

"No, Boy," Piney gruffly answered stepping over Jax's explanation. "We're going to be looking after more important business," the old man wheezed as he coldly eyed the sporty Caddy speeding into the lot.

"Awe, shit," Jax uttered knowing that his deviously clever mother wouldn't have left Clay's side unless Gemma was putting something she considered more important into motion. Frowning, he muttered, "Tara doesn't need her bullshit today."

"We got your back, Brother," Opie replied with certainty because nobody wanted a repeat of last night's verbal destruction between the two women who loved Jax Teller. "We'll handle Gemma and Tara, you go meet with Romeo."

Anxiously, Jax loped off toward his bike already regretting the need to leave and dismally wondering if he was going to owe anyone hazard pay by the time he got back. The outlaw life; where you mastered the art of surviving the deadly odds of horrible timing. Sometimes, it just fucking sucked.

* * *

><p>The rumble of engines shot through Gemma with less force than the rapid pounding of her nervous heart as she neared the line of departing Harley's.<p>

Normally, she was a woman who kept the rough and tumble world around her controlled by the tight clench of her cunning fist but, right now, there was nothing brash about her, Gemma was reduced to an all too fallible mother wary of rejection as she approached her boy. Humbly, she tentatively offered, "It's good to see you, Baby. I didn't know you were already out."

The golden haired son that she'd nurtured at her breast; the one she'd lied, stolen, and killed for; the one she'd protect with her last gasping breath; ruthlessly ignored her maternal comments and, instead, finished strapping on his helmet as if she wasn't even there.

It hurt; cut her to the quick because Jax had never been this distant with her.

When she'd almost given up hope that he'd acknowledge her, Jax finally leveled such a chilling glance on her that Gemma suddenly wished that he'd continued ignoring her intrusion. She hadn't yet recovered from that unexpected slash of pain when he hit her with another emotional blow as her son frostily ordered, "Don't go looking for Tara while I'm gone. You're going to leave her alone after last night."

Her shocked eyes met Jax's icy gaze while he sat astride his powerful Harley looking the epitome of the bad ass biker she'd been trying to groom to take over the Sons empire since infancy. He looked hard, vengeful, and like he'd been born with a bloody reaper on his back but Gemma had never thought she'd be on the receiving end of his bitter retribution.

"What, Grandma," he viciously taunted in a flat voice, "did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

"Asshole," she instinctively replied to her son's unnaturally cruel jibe, "who told you? Was it that stupid bitch?"

"It doesn't matter who told me," he gave a humorless snort at her presumption and his nostrils flared in angry condemnation, "you'll probably blame her anyway even when you shouldn't but Tara's back now. She's staying and you're going to-"

"Jax," she worriedly cut him off, "that's not a good idea. She-"

"I don't give a shit what you think," Jax exploded with blazing fury as he leaned forward on his bike, the motion underscoring the finality of his claim, "You're going go stay out of her way and what Tara does, what I do, is none of your concern anymore."

"Jax, please," Gemma desperately cried, grabbing his arm trying to get him to listen to reason, "I didn't know what Clay-"

At her husband's name, Jax's stony look turned even harder, glacial even, as he shrugged off her touch and rigidly ground out, "Get out of my way, we've got business to get to."

Crushed, Gemma pulled back as if he'd actually struck her, a river of sorrow and regret bleeding from her maternal heart as her little boy sped off with her severed apron strings carelessly blowing behind him in the breeze. There was no easy fix for this, it was going to take lots of time, very careful maneuvering, and, surely, sending that uppity bitch back to Chicago in a body bag if she had to because Gemma Teller wasn't losing her only remaining flesh and blood to an old flame that should have burned out in high school.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere in the clubhouse was definitely less tense without a hoard of biker's not so casually watching her every move, it was almost pleasant to be there amid the overflowing ashtrays and dirty shot glasses. Almost. Tara figured that didn't speak too positively of the more draining experiences she'd had since walking back through that battered door but emotional bruising had always been part of her less than idyllic life in Charming.<p>

Without much effort, she grabbed up the empties from last night and made quick work of the washing, drying, and putting away before Piney ambled back to his stool and suspiciously barked, "And just what do you think that you're doing, Little Girl?"

"Sorry, Piney," she genuinely smiled her apology. "My hands aren't used to being idle these days."

"You know," his tequila roughened timber leveled, "your Ma would be real proud of how you've grown up."

"She'd probably be happier with my first communion picture than my medical degrees," Tara sadly chuckled in response knowing that her mother would definitely find fault with the fact that her daughter hadn't been back to mass since they'd laid her to rest in that sunny little spot in the cemetery that would make her bones warm and cozy for eternity.

"I wasn't referring to you being a doctor," Piney knowingly eyed her as he grabbed a clean glass and poured himself a fresh shot.

"Thanks, Piney," she replied with a sense of foreign contentment. "Do you think I can get someone to give me a ride over to Nathan Hale's office?"

"What do you need to head there for darlin," he questioned in a tone that told her two things, Piney didn't like that particular Hale and he wanted all of the details if she was going to put so much as her pinky toe somewhere other than Teller-Morrow property.

"His company has been managing my Dad's property for me since he passed," she quickly explained with absolutely nothing to hide. "Figured since I'm here for a few more days, I'd get the house keys and finally deal with my Dad's stuff."

"Sure, darlin, that makes sense," the old man nodded his understanding. "Why don't you take my old Caddy?"

"Really, you still have it," she grinned excitedly remembering another time Piney had handed over those car keys. He'd shown up unexpectedly at the end of the school day, cheekily tossed her the key ring, and told her to get her ass behind the wheel before her permit expired. Patiently, he'd instructed her every afternoon for a few weeks until Tara was finally ready for the driving portion of the licensing exam including how to expertly parallel park a boat on wheels.

Piney's eyes were glassy from more than early morning alcohol when he grumbled, "I didn't get to say this last night but it's good to have you back, Little Girl."

Sweetly, Tara gave the old bear of a man more than just a brief squeeze when she planted a kiss on his stubbled cheek and gladly offered, "I missed you too."

"That's enough of that now," Piney gruffly stated after a moment of affection. "And make sure you take the Prospect with you," he cautioned, "that's one Hale that can't ever be trusted."

Tara had forgotten how good it was to feel like she had a place with people for no other reason than they actually knew and cared about her and not just because of what skill she could bring to an operating table. Somehow, Tara realized that being back in Charming wasn't all bad, it was a nice feeling to know she still had her own family here.


	8. Chapter 8

Fear, sticky and ripe, suddenly clung to his skin while Jax stared down Galindo's top man north of the border.

"What happened with Clay is family business," he leveled not daring to take his hardened gaze off of the former military commando turned cartel shot caller. "It won't disrupt our dealings with the Irish."

"You're certain," Romeo raised a weathered brow with more than an implied threat as they stood secluded in the shady area of the park. "Dr. Knowles isn't a security risk after all this time?"

"No," Jax definitively ground out, "my wife was never the problem."

"Will she be a distraction though," Torres methodically eyed him, expertly taking in every nuance of his angry stance, every minute detail of worry tensing his frame as Romeo's second astutely waited for an answer.

"Did you know that Clay almost killed my Old Lady," Jax spit out between gritted teeth, his body suddenly trembling with suppressed rage as he further revealed, "but got my kid instead."

"What you're feeling right there, Son," Romeo grimaced with dark understanding, "that near savage fury that can't be buried. That's what has us asking," the cartel mastermind nodded. "Is this going to be a problem for us?"

"No," Jax lethally promised. "It'll be handled at a Club level from now on just like the Irish thing."

Silently, Romeo and Torres communicated with each other, reading a veritable novel from each other's minor facial ticks as nervous sweat trickled down Jax's spine, creeping over his reaper, and making him wonder for the first time if Tara returning to Charming right now was really a good thing or not.

After an unnerving moment, Romeo ordered grimly, "Keep the doctor close until your Club is clear of all pending charges. She gave them nothing," he ruthlessly added before trudging away, "make sure it stays that way."

Torres, the ever watchful man, quietly shadowed his boss after he unequivocally stated, "We'll be in touch."

Jax didn't move until the pair was half-way back to their ride, a beast of a cage that was surely outfitted with deadly substance under the flashy golden cover. He had no doubt the urban assault vehicle wasn't just a cocky show of power but was something that could easily withstand any street skirmish someone was foolhardy enough to launch against high ranking members of a large, well funded, and widely connected drug cartel. That particular knowledge didn't settle his lingering misgivings about their newest buyers in the slightest, it only added to them.

He took a few slow, hesitant steps backwards as the men finally drove off; uncertain of the path the Sons were irrevocably traveling down. They'd all voted this shit in out of necessity though it didn't exactly feel right. His V.P. patch had hung heavy on his cut for years now and, yet, the stitching had never felt quite so restrictive or inextricably binding before. Woefully resolved to the Club's immediate future since there were no other options, Jax abruptly turned and quickly fell back in with Tig, Chibs, and Happy who'd been lingering in the background as a trio of deadly support.

"We all good, Brother," Tig questioned with his penetrating stare not liking that Galindo's men always wanted to chat solo.

"Yeah, we're good," Jax offered as he slipped onto his bike with such ease they were like a modern day centaur; gears, chrome, and man forming one dangerous entity. "We just gotta keep everyone close."

* * *

><p>The hard backed chair groaned under Bobby's weight, his girth settling heavy as the life-long biker slumped down next to him; the man's wiry curls as unruly as his worldly appetites when he sighed, "Sent Juice with the Prospect for a snack, the kid was looking a bit light."<p>

Normally, Clay would have a snide comment for Phil's incessant binging, knowing it was his duty to bust the newbies balls, to prove him by seasoned methods of hazing, but that would require too much effort when there were more important ways for him to expand his limited energy these days. Cagily, he drilled his Brother, "Anything I need to worry about?"

"Not yet," his old friend mustered without hesitation, their connection seemingly intact. "The kid's meeting with Romeo now, sharing a pint with the Irish tomorrow, and slowly calming down some. He's taking care of business though," Bobby assured with a rueful twist of his mouth. "You just need to get healed up. What do the doctors say?"

"Full recovery," Clay easily lied without remorse, drawing down his scabbed lip in emphasis, needing to buy more time, "it'll just take a few weeks."

"Good, that's good, Brother," Bobby's whiskey roughened tone affirmed. "We'll just keep the daily grind going until then."

Despite assuring words to the contrary, Clay knew without a doubt that he'd become nothing but grist to be harshly pounded under the rock of Brotherly retribution if the heavy mantle of authority slipped from his beaten shoulders due to his prognosis or, worse yet, because they found out about his side deal with the cartel. His broken fingers needed to desperately cling to the gavel for as long as they possibly could, otherwise, the M.C. President would be unceremoniously stripped of his patch, his vote, and, quite possibly his life.

Before they could mercilessly scrape the ink from his body, Clay needed to have a viable alternative in play. He would too because if he'd learned nothing else from the bloody outlaw life, it was how to survive.

* * *

><p>Reluctantly, Tara pulled into the old drive promising herself that she'd get this over with quickly and be just fine. She'd lived through much worse than packing up painful remnants of her childhood and this was definitely something that needed to be done before she considered leaving Charming for good.<p>

Swiftly, Tara cut the Caddy's purring engine though she still remained uncertainly in the vehicle.

Her wary gaze soaked in all the ingrained details that were no longer just founded in her unwanted recollections. The tan facade still looked like it was taking a washed out nap in the sleepy sun under a thick blanket of old shingles. The modest lines always seemed unassuming, benign even, but the wooden planks of disregard had been layered board by board and hurtful memories were driven like nails into her mind from the lonely house that had built her.

Pensive, she sat in the blistering heat; her back glued to the seat's aged leather by her clinging sweat all while she foolishly pondered why she'd expected the broken pieces inside her to somehow be magically healed just because significant time had passed. Tara knew all too well that it didn't work that way, it was never that easy and, yet, the whimpering little girl under the stoic woman had still wanted that simplicity.

The tentative knock startled her, had her self-consciously nodding to Kip through the driver's side window as the Prospect rapidly moved back so that she could finally climb out of the car. His boyish voice nervously apologized, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't mean nothing by-"

"Don't worry, Kip," she rushed to reassure the younger man with a false smile. "It was becoming like an oven in there anyway."

"You okay, need some water or something," Half Sack respectfully offered in defiance of the rough club member he was striving to become. "My service canteen's with my bike."

"I'm good," she kindly declined knowing that fluids weren't going to fix what really ailed her as Tara ambled toward the front stoop. Absently, she noted that Jacob Hale's crew had efficiently cleaned out the overgrown bushes that had surrounded the area, leaving the entrance feeling more inviting than she recalled. The stained concrete looked like a well-trod path to a bustling home rather than a rundown step to an unoccupied dwelling.

Just as she was about to forge ahead, forcing herself to go inside, Tara surreptitiously spied the long abandoned garden stone from her fifth birthday. Instantly, she crouched to run a finger along the well troweled edge before tenderly tracing the outline she'd left in the mortar so many years ago, her small hand barely making an indentation next to the larger print beside it back then. Slowly, almost reverently, Tara molded her palm into her mother's precious mark.

Somberly, she closed her eyes against the misty love unstoppably forming there.

The surgeon hadn't thought that if she touched the stone they'd made together in what felt like another lifetime that she'd still feel it, however, Tara had been woefully wrong before and this was no exception. A fairytale collection of remembrances- perfectly happy and utterly carefree- rushed through her, seemingly passed from the solid form pressed flush under her skin straight to her yearning soul. Suddenly, Tara knew there was someplace else she needed to be as the urgently seeking woman hurriedly slipped back behind the wheel of Piney's memory fueled car.

* * *

><p>Nothing happened in a vacuum around here.<p>

Club business might be taboo but salacious gossip about the member's lives certainly wasn't censored. Word had spread fast and furious through the biking fold that mother and son were seriously on the outs, Gemma saw it plain as day on even the mechanics faces when she'd moved customer paperwork through the office. The grease monkeys and gear heads, some of whom she'd known since they were in diapers, were basically giving her a set of brisk knuckles in silent solidarity with the patched V.P. and co-owner of the garage they all worked for, it was galling to say the least.

Gemma hadn't felt this humiliated since she'd inadvertently found that traitorous love letter Jax's father had written to his young Irish piece on the side all those years ago. She hadn't taken that slight lightly then nor would she now. Gemma Teller-Morrow was a God damn force to be reckoned with, a veritable bitch in shit kicking biker boots, and nobody was coming between her and the love and respect that she'd rightfully earned.

Tiggie had quickly asked her how she was holding up when he'd come back but it had been strictly business with everyone else or worse. She couldn't shake the wary look that Opie had given her when she'd tried to task him with the weekly repo list. He'd merely handed the sheet of paper over to Miles and gruffly warned that he was sticking close by after last night even though the little bitch wasn't even on site at the time.

Gemma loved him like family but Opie's lumbering strength was no match for her vengeful cunning. She'd send that overly protected gash running back to Chicago without even having to lay eyes on the good doctor again. For all her abundant brains, Tara had always been a little dumb when it came to Jax and other girls. It had been so easy to weave the teenager's insecure strings into a cloak of jealousy that had caused more than one rift between the high school sweethearts.

The spiteful mother seriously doubted that even will all her medical degrees that Tara had finally mastered the birds and the bees where Jax was concerned. All Gemma needed to do was remind the little honeybee that she hadn't been the only bonnet that Jax had buzzed in after all these years and this Queen knew just what royal bitch to call to sweeten the trap.

* * *

><p>Guilt flooded him with each passing mile, threatening to drown him in remorse for the previous ire he'd felt toward Tara as Josh shadowed her basic movements. He simply couldn't believe that he'd gotten so bitterly angry at the angelic doctor when none of it had been her fault. No, that much was all too apparent to him now as Tara made her way through Charming with an armed escort riding conspicuously alongside her borrowed vehicle, an action that kept her hostage even while giving the appearance of freedom.<p>

Josh was a trained agent, an expert in the criminal element; he should have easily recognized that Tara was just too terrified to do anything but defend her captors when he'd mistakenly confronted them at Teller-Morrow instead of taking irrational offense to her actions. His caring little surgeon had even seen fit to save him by running him off when Josh was only one man heavily outnumbered on the Son's very own turf. He'd grossly misjudged the situation because of Teller's proximity to her, it had made him stiffly fume with an all-consuming jealousy that had ravenously bitten away at his shrewd intellect and reserved control. Josh wouldn't let that happen again.

He knew that Tara wasn't some stupid biker slut; she was smart, educated, and had survived those amoral monsters once already and barely gotten out with her life. Like the methodical doctor she'd become, Tara was just biding her time until her perfect opportunity for escape was presented and Josh would be certain to provide it for her. After all, it was his fault such a lovely woman was trapped by those outlaws now, hemmed in by Teller's proprietary claim, all because he and Stahl had led her like a sacrificial lamb to the Son's legal slaughter.

It had been his job to protect her but he'd failed miserably in that calling since Tara had landed precariously in the biker's murderous clutches once again. Certainly, he'd rectify that grievous error soon. The sweet physician needed his care, the protection that only he could afford her, and a worthier partner.

He could provide all of that for her and, inexplicably, he needed too.

Josh wanted to give her all of that and so much more as the field binoculars slipped from his sweaty hands just as easily as Tara dropped to her knees by a matching pair of headstones. It galled him to realize that fear of Sam Crow, of Teller, had kept Tara from even visiting her father's grave after he'd passed recently.

He wanted to give Tara the respect and privacy that her visit deserved but Josh just couldn't. He was utterly captivated by the doctor because even in her despair and grief, Tara was more ethereally beautiful than the pink buds softly nestled in her delicate hands.

Profoundly, something essential shifted deep within him and Josh knew; he'd never be able to look away from this woman again.

* * *

><p>The verdant grass was plush under her knees, thick and full, just the way her father had always kept it when Tara was a little girl and both of her parents had still been alive and happy together. She remembered the dense feel of it underfoot, the clean scent tickling her nose after it was freshly cut, and twirling with her mother until she was too dizzy to stand.<p>

Her father would tease them then about being his petal princesses, spritely little fairies, as they giggled an invitation for him to sit on the ratty blanket they had spread out regally like it was displaying the finest of china. The glorious sunlight would glimmer off their plain glasses making them shine like diamonds as her father's big hands thoughtfully cut and clipped a single rose from their small garden to carefully tuck behind her mother's ear like it was the most expensive of gems, a fitting crown for the queen of his heart.

Before the memory of that same man hacking the defenseless bush to pieces in a drunken pruning session could dim her relative contentment, Tara kindly laid her bouquet of English Misses down beside her mother's headstone and smiled, "Hey, Momma, sorry it's been a while."

Tara had long ago forgiven her mother for leaving them. The woman had had little choice when illness had drained her strength of will, her gentle touch, and, finally, her very life without much warning or preparation. What she'd had a harder time getting past was the broken man her father had suddenly become without his wife's guiding hand and maternal influence.

She'd been terrified the moment her keen young mind had realized that she'd never be able to trust the man to care for her again. It wasn't that her father was abusive per say. He was just withdrawn, neglectful, lost in a world of despairing grief that he self-medicated with alcohol and that didn't leave any room for his little girl's needs. Overnight, she'd gone from his most cherished possession to merely an annoying afterthought even on his better days.

It had been a hard but fast lesson for Tara to learn and she'd been a very apt pupil. Her self-taught lecture had been rather simple; trust no one, not even, yourself. Tara couldn't even rely completely on her own judgment because she'd been foolish enough to believe the loving security of her formative years when the fallacy had only turned into a cruel, bleak, and lonely reality.

Until, Jax.

Strangely wistful, Tara fleetingly wondered what her life would have been like if they hadn't lost the woman who'd obviously been the bedrock of their small family. Would she have stayed her father's carefree sprite never doubting the love she'd been shown? Would she have been blissfully unaware until the prince of Charming rumbled into their drive on his trusty Harley only to steal her away into a lawless not so happily ever after? Or, would some other calamity have brought on life's harshest truth?

That in the end, Tara's affection was never really enough for the men she loved because, when it counted, they didn't consider her important enough to be put ahead of their other distractions and obligations. They made the decisions and, regardless of her wants or needs, she was left to deal with the aftermath of their choices all by herself.

Angrily, she swiped at the unbidden tears that had silently run unchecked down her cheeks, wetting her shirt, and making her feel awkward and foolish after she'd negligently allowed her thoughts to prattle along about things that shouldn't matter anymore but, obviously, still did somehow. Instead, Tara purposefully tried to regroup and offer a mature perspective she'd struggled so hard to convince herself that she'd achieved over the years, "Hopefully, Dad, you're finally back with Momma and at peace."

She honestly wanted that serenity for her father after living a decade rife with her own emotional turmoil and scars, Tara wanted to believe that the man had eventually been able to have his earthly burden of loss eased in the eternities. Desperately, she needed to believe that her own could be lightened somehow as well but the heartbroken woman that dwelt in her reserved shell feared that wish would never come to pass.

Despondently, Tara traced the letters of her parents' names carved into the stone in a very familiar script, one that was forever etched on her maternal soul, and hoarsely whispered to resting spirits that would never reply, "How will I ever survive telling Jax about his son?"

It was something that Tara needed to do soon because the more time she spent in Charming, the more rooted to the town, to Jax, she became as happier memories reclaimed their rightful place in the barren soil of her heart. It made something akin to hope flourish and fated expectation bloom even though Tara knew that there was no future with Jax now, she still unabashedly longed for the family they should have been all this time.


	9. Chapter 9

Annoyed, Opie pushed through the clubhouse door to find his old man exactly as Piney had been for years now- half drunk and brooding- as he gruffly stated, "You shouldn't have let her go by herself."

"I didn't. She took a Prospect with her," his father scowled back at him as the shot glass Piney had been holding landed heavily on the battered bar top. "Tara will be fine."

"Yeah," he nodded back in challenge. "Then why did Sack just call saying that she spent half the morning at the cemetery crying. The kid wanted to know if he should have hugged her or something. Hell," he scoffed, "Tara didn't even so much as sniffle when she fell from that tree in our backyard in third grade and busted up her leg trying to jump to the lowest hanging limb off her old Huffy when Jax and I dared her to but she's broken down in real tears twice now."

Sagely, his old man raised an eyebrow in a manner that had made lesser men cower, "And, what's that tell you, Son."

Reluctantly, his mouth slanted into a half-grimace, "That she's in more pain than a fractured bone could give her."

"She's bottled up all the awful shit that happened and it's been eating at her for years now," Piney explained with a vet's unfortunate understanding, "the only way this gets better is if Tara finally gets it all out."

"Pop, if whatever happened has been ripping Tara up this bad," he questioned with the rusty blade of concern cutting through his tone. "What's it going to do to Jax?"

"Not sure, Son, but even with all his raging vengeance over this," his father slowly leveled with honest truth polishing his unrehearsed words, "Jax has been thinking more about the future of this Club since Tara came back than he has for years now. He's finally pushing back against Clay and that's gotta be good for all of us." A wistful knowledge clouded his thoughts when Piney added with a slight smile, "That conviction in his voice this morning was so much like J.T.'s that for a second, I wondered if my best friend was really dead."

"Sure that's not just all the weed talking," Opie joked off the maudlin turn of his father's comments not certain that he wanted to acknowledge the truth.

"Maybe," his old man roughly chuckled in return as Piney automatically reached for the abandoned drink needing the liquid that had become his constant companion.

"You got something right though," Opie gravely confided after a moment of silent contemplation, "this thing with Tara has resurrected something good in him that I thought was long dead."

"Yeah, well, I've got a feeling he's gonna need to draw deep now from wherever it was buried," Piney advised with the certainty that decades of rough living and even harsher battling along the fringe of society had given him, "because that Boy's got one hell of a fight coming where our girl is concerned."

"She always was a scrapper," Opie harrumphed back remembering more than one busted lip courtesy of younger versions of Tara and her vicious little jab.

"Doubt that's changed much," Piney grinned with blatant pride at having shown her how to make a proper fist when she was a kid so that nobody would bully the scrawny slip of a girl if Opie and Jax weren't around, "even if she lands her punches a little differently these days."

Opie couldn't disagree with his father because the only person he'd known to really best Jackson Teller in an argument besides Gemma had been his youthful Old Lady. She'd only been a teenaged spitfire back then, now he wondered just what fiery tricks the overly clever woman had learned to hide under the seemingly harmless cover of her scrubs all these years.

Ruefully, Opie figured that before all was settled between Jax and Tara this go round, he'd probably find out with flaming detail and a clarity that burned at least one of them.

* * *

><p>She'd finally lit the match to what had formerly been a missing fuse.<p>

June couldn't help but give herself a mental pat on the back as another chink in the Son's armor fell into place. The rip in the fabric of their protective loyalty was ever widening as the Stockton guard reported that her ace in the proverbial hole, Otto, had already reached out to the Mother Crow and would be hopelessly looking for answers that would never extinguish the grieving husband's smoldering doubts. Eventually, they'd flare up, igniting an inferno of vengeance that would legally consume every Sons' Charter and she'd be like a fabled phoenix that rose from their ashes, getting the rebirth of her career that she so desperately needed.

Running a small field office with Kohn as her partner had never been enough for her. June had always been destined for better things with the bureau and she was well on her way to proving that now. It was rather amazing what a little false rumor and speculative innuendo could accomplish when capriciously mixed in with incontrovertible facts. Soon, she'd have the men of Sam Crow exactly where she wanted them; ruining their illustrious criminal careers over love.

Those knuckle-dragging thugs on Harley's were going to be led down the primrose path to prison all because of their sentimental dicks; it would almost be poetic if it wasn't so pathetic.

And, thinking of pitiable things, June gunned her government issued car towards Charming because she still needed to find her errant partner before he somehow mucked up her brilliant plan with his odd sense of ethical justice.

* * *

><p>Tara had made considerable progress at the house after she'd shrugged off her earlier melancholy and ignored the annoying texts that had been coming from that unknown number since she left the cemetery. She'd made headway, at least, in uncovering the only thing she might actually keep from her father's belongings.<p>

The musty scent of aging newsprint still clung to the stagnant air that hung limp and heavy in the garage even after Kip had hauled the moldy bundles to the over-sized garbage bin outside but that didn't really matter. What held her avid attention were the inky lines of the Olds that had been her father's for longer than she'd been alive, its smooth planes of darkness and minimal curves beckoned her to slide behind the wheel and find an open stretch of road for a tempting run of freedom.

Before that could ever happen, Tara had serious business to handle here first. With an encouraging nod, she called Kip, "Help me roll this out of the garage?"

"Sure," the younger man readily jumped to do her bidding, "how far are we going with it?"

"Just out in the driveway," she answered absentmindedly still captivated by the black beauty before her, "I don't know if it's running or how long it's been since it was driven last, I just want to check out the engine before trying to start it to be sure I won't throw a rod or anything but the smell is still pretty rank in here."

The kid looked at her confused for a minute before inevitably putting his lean shoulder to the proverbial wheel as Tara angled the steering so that the vehicle turned slightly as it reversed, leaving the front end facing out of the driveway with sunlight beaming down on it like an overpowering spotlight as she efficiently popped the hood. The engine chamber was shockingly clean and tidy compared to the rest of the house, almost gleaming in the daylight, and Tara smiled with near giddy anticipation. Swiftly, she reached through the open door to the battered glove box in search of the log that she was now certain would contain the all clear in her father's scratchy hand. Just as expected, Tara's eyes traced over his stilted penmanship with bittersweet recognition, the simple lines denoting the vehicles care over decades were a testament, a running scripture, to her father's true worship.

Nervously, Tara fingered the keys that had been religiously dangled from their near sainted status on the kitchen wall right inside the garage door for as long as she could remember and naturally slipped behind the sturdy wheel with a silent prayer. Hesitantly, almost reverently, she fitted the ridged metal into the lock with divine purpose and cranked the car's muscle back to life.

The engine sung with a deep, soul inspiring hymn of praise and Tara couldn't help the heavenly smile that spread across her face like angel's feathered wings.

Suddenly, the Prospect gave her an odd, gangly grin as he stated with a childish sense of disbelief, "So you're a super car kind of girl, huh?"

"Why do you seem surprised," Tara questioned with mild curiosity as she moved to watch the rejuvenated engine block purr out in supplication, making her want to take the only thing her father had maintained faith in out for a life affirming sermon of her own through the winding roads of God's bountiful country.

"Just thought you were into the bikes and all," Kip boyishly stammered back, uncertain if he'd unknowingly crossed a taboo line with the V.P.'s wife or not, since Jax was certainly all about the Harley's.

Tellingly, she clarified so the Prospect didn't innocently mistake her for a Crow Eater in front of the other Sons, or worse, in Jax's testy presence, "I've only ever been on the back of one man's bike, Half Sack."

The significance of that statement wasn't lost on either of them as Tara immediately returned her attention to the car she'd made considerable time in back in her teens. Proudly, she wondered if her father ever found out that she'd actually been the hellion behind the wheel when the Cutlass had come off the line to full speed in 6.9 seconds and not her leather clad boyfriend.

Somehow, Tara figured that if he had, the elder Knowles would forgive her because of the affinity they both shared for the car whose chassis had been designed for police pursuit but had been outfitted for super-fast performance instead.

* * *

><p>The drive had helped her clear her mind some but Gemma was still smarting from Jax's curt dismissal earlier.<p>

Normally, she'd want a front row seat for the axe grinding performance that was soon coming Tara's way but Otto's unusual request meant that Gemma wouldn't be around to blame for the show of pay back later. A rather convenient excuse and, yet, the biking diva was more than willing to use it to cover her ass where her son was concerned since she needed to finagle things extra carefully around him right now.

With a maternal care that was harder to put forth given her current situation, Gemma slipped into the chair across the barren table from Big Otto and asked, "What can I do for you, sweetheart?"

His long hair hung greasy and lank like a matted shroud of grief around Otto's slumped shoulders when he sullenly asked, "I want to know how long Bobby was tapping Luann before she died?"

"Bobby," she asked stuck somewhere between shock and disbelief. "He was doing the books out at Cara Cara but they wouldn't have-"

"He was doing my wife too," Otto definitively cut her off, "DNA doesn't lie. And I want to know if that was why he killed her?"

"Otto, Bobby didn't kill Luann, you know none of the guys would hurt her," she comfortingly explained trying to get him to see reason while she internally tried to reconcile why Bobby and Luann would take advantage of the prison clause.

"Wonder if Jax thought that before yesterday too," Otto lowly threatened like the hardened inmate he'd become, "I want you to tell Clay that he needs to find the scumbag who killed her before he loses what he loves the most."

It was obvious to Gemma that the incarcerated biker didn't care that the M.C. President was currently laid up in a hospital bed, even more apparent, that Otto now suspected that not only had Clay failed to protect Luann for the big guy but he wondered if her husband had had a bloody hand in Luann's death too.

Suddenly, Gemma wondered that as well.

* * *

><p>"Where's Tara," Opie saw his best friend's gaze surreptitiously scan the Teller-Morrow property from astride his bike in a manner that did little to hide a small thread of panic that now laced Jax's tone when his woman wasn't in his sight.<p>

"Her dad's place by now," he evenly answered not wanting to tip Jax off that Tara had had a rough morning just yet, "I was about to take a ride over to give her a hand."

"The man was on the verge of being a hoarder last time I was there," Jax scoffed as he shook his head, "so she's probably gonna need it. Let's check it out."

"Sure," Opie loped his long body over his bike in agreement and they were quickly off. The late summer sun reminded him of another time they'd ridden up to Tara's house together. He and Jax had been freshly minted on their Harley's, expecting to surprise their habitual tag along with what they'd accomplished while she'd been staying with extended family for the summer but it was Tara that had shocked them nearly out of their bottom rockers.

They'd been appreciatively eying the curvy honey leaning over the open hood of her father's blacked out Cutlass, slender calves with a light tan led to a long expanse of supple thigh, the golden flesh crowned high by a hip hugging skirt that had almost flashed the jewel of her underwear when the chic had stretched forward. And, stretch, slow and far, they'd certainly wanted her to do when that denim rode along the underside of her perfect cheek, cupping her ass like an all-American teenager's wet dream.

When the fantasy girl had abruptly turned around and nearly skipped over to them with a little white tank barely covering perky breasts that hadn't been nearly that ripe a few months earlier and an all too easy hug of camaraderie, Opie had felt distinctly uncomfortable. He'd been thoroughly embarrassed to have been caught checking out their pal in such a blatantly male fashion, it still gave him the willies remembering the horrifying experience.

Yet, that had been the exact moment Opie knew, without a doubt, that he'd suddenly become the third wheel in the Jax and Tara show because his best friend looked at the girl who was the closest thing to a sister he'd ever get with an avid appreciation and elemental male need that hadn't diminished or dimmed for nearly half of their lives.

A fact that was still readily apparent as they pulled into her drive to see Tara's womanly curves draped over the same old Cutlass's hard frame, her pants snug in places that obviously left little to his best friend's imagination even now. Swiftly, Jax's grin spread wide and thick with teasing ease, "Still fawning over that beastly cage."

"They say the first cut is always the deepest," Tara quipped right back without even turning around to face them, "and I fell in love with this cage long before I warmed your back."

"Been a while since you've done that, darlin," Jax could never resist flirting with Tara in his presence even though Opie had once told his friend back when they were still teenagers that it made him feel like he was stuck in a ghoulish nightmare watching Mary and Piney tangle between the sheets. It was disconcerting at times to say the least and that compulsion hadn't changed a bit with a decade lapse in between.

But those two were as usual, oblivious to anyone else, suddenly locked in their own little universe as Tara slyly threw over her shoulder, "It'll be a lot longer still."

Her steady gaze pinned Jax in a heated way that nearly had Opie blushing with the sexual challenge that still sparked between his two friends like a downed wire, arcing here and there, and wildly shocking anything in its path.

"We'll see, Babe," Jax strode toward Tara with the same cocky assurance plastered across his face that had once earned his Brother a month straight of no cutting class because Tara managed to relocate a Charming patrol car and pack it like a sardine inside the can of a storefront next to Floyd's barber shop. The citizens of Charming legitimately didn't see a thing and it took her anonymous tip to the precinct days later to get the vehicle out after the palms of the same set of glass setters were greased again.

Their current banter seemed like nothing much but Opie knew it was just the disarming calm before the proverbial shit storm that Tara could unleash if Jax got her back up. He wanted to intervene, to head off the impending cold front of Tara's stubborn nature but Opie got distracted by the Prospect's befuddled question, "How I'm gonna get the Caddy, the Cutlass, and my bike all back to the garage?"

"Figure it out, Grunt, but she doesn't ride on your bike," he gruffly rebuffed Half Sack's lack of ingenuity with the additional warning since the guy wasn't nearly as bright as he was loyal.

At this point, as he watched his childhood pals warily circle each other with a blatant hunger for connection that one of them was hell bent on denying, Opie knew that Jax would have the kid's last nut if their possessive V.P. found out that Tara rode double with anyone but him if it wasn't a ride or die situation.

And, right now, it looked like his best friend just might explode anyway as Tara unequivocally leveled, "I said that I'd stay in Charming for a few days, Jax, but that didn't mean with you."

Yep, Opie winced; thinking that his last Taste of Charming display had nothing on these impending fireworks because Tara still knew just how to push every single one of Jax's overly hot buttons.


	10. Chapter 10

He felt the ground shake unsteadily beneath him and the air tremble with the sudden rush of temper Jax was desperately trying to bite back as Tara slipped into her father's house like nothing of consequence had just passed between them.

Frustration relentlessly thundered through him, making his heart speed and his blood pound with the need to race after her but Opie's low tone was a welcome flag of caution as his friend queried, "What happened?"

"No idea," Jax clenched his jaw, trying not to fall back into the black void of checkered anger that could so easily suck him in and spit out something ugly, vile, and utterly stupid that would only further upset the precarious balance he'd been trying to achieve with Tara by slowly drawing her closer without scaring her away.

"Sorry, man," the mountain of muscle before Jax helplessly sniggered like he was still a little boy trying to sneak crude potty humor past their all too astute second grade teacher, Mrs. Bulldock, before she made him clap erasers for his unrepentant attitude.

"Yeah, I can see that," Jax replied with a disgruntled smirk as his best friend's long standing amusement that Tara was the only female his bad boy aura and natural charm couldn't readily tame rose to the surface despite his foul mood.

Op's mouth quirked to the side, sunlight making the red tint of his long beard flame along with his humor before the other biker eventually raised his frank brows and thoughtfully reminded Jax, "Brains before bullets, Brother."

"Yep," he shot back already knowing where the barrel of his friend's advice was pointed.

"Better find out what she's thinking before you do anything," Opie aimed with long standing practice. "You know she'll have a good reason, she always did."

Jax took a deep drag from the butt that he'd nearly forgotten was lit in his hand knowing that Tara surely would have an explanation filled with lots of poignant words; all of them steeped in irrefutable logic and thoroughly soaked in a rational perspective. They'd line up like obedient little soldiers to stalwartly fight her verbal battle for her but no matter what his wife actually articulated, her silent premise could be summarized into one thing; Tara was still running from him.

And, no matter how she delivered that message, it would still hurt like hell.

"Yeah, man, I know," he swallowed the surge of anguish that threatened to break over him, refusing to let the raw wave of angry habits intrude on the resurrected horizon of their future. He wasn't going to let his fists harshly speak for him against hard surfaces and he wasn't going to let them devolve into a nasty tit for tat styled argument where Tara's stubborn nature always won out either. This time, Jax was going to reasonably talk with her until he'd picked off every straggling point of intellect and demolished every coherent line of defense Tara tried to erect between them until the obstinate woman had no choice but to surrender the truth.

Decision fucking made, Jax ruthlessly crushed the cigarette under his foot and stalked toward where Tara had made her escape inside the house earlier. He didn't need to search hard to find her; in fact, he almost tripped over his wife's bent form when he first passed through the garage into the kitchen. Tara was just inside the door; nonchalantly moving freshly laundered bedding from the ancient washer to the equally decrepit dryer like it was something routine they did together on a regular basis which pissed him off even more.

"Want to tell me what's going on," he led out; his burning irritation almost banked for the moment by his overly forced control.

"What are you talking about," her green eyes met him in wide open confusion, obviously, not seeing the huge God damn line she'd drawn in the proverbial sand outside.

He eyed her in a pointed way that practically dared Tara to avoid answering his next question, "Why don't you want to stay at the clubhouse with me?"

"Jax," she started with the befuddled slant of her eyes, "you know I need to clean this place out and me being there really isn't fair to the guys. They kept certain things in check last night," she gave him a significant look to indicate the apparent lack of easy women flashing their naked feminine wiles or more, "but they're not going to be happy if they have to keep that up."

"They were just being respectful," he evenly countered not nearly satisfied with Tara's evasive response yet.

"I know and I appreciate it," she half smiled in recognition of his Brothers unexpected courtesy as she pressed the button to start up the beleaguered old machine. Then her dark brows scrunched together for a long moment, her considerable unease raking over his rapidly dwindling patience before Tara hesitantly admitted, "It would probably be easier to talk here too."

Suddenly, time stilled, sucking the life out of his smoldering fury when it dissolved into nothing but ashen misunderstanding as Jax realized that Tara wasn't trying to run from him or put up another choking smokescreen. She hadn't even been trying to strategically outmaneuver him in the silent war of unshared history between them.

No, she'd just been harmlessly attempting to control how their inevitable conversation would occur, with less eyes and ears to eavesdrop or interrupt and that wasn't necessarily a bad thing for either of them, but what was of crucial importance to Jax was that Tara wasn't hiding from it or from him with her disclosure. At some point, she'd made up her infuriatingly headstrong mind to actually discuss things with him while she was here which inherently made Jax breathe a little easier than he had before since each passing second wasn't one less chance, another cruelly missed opportunity, to get close to her again.

Casually, he conceded with unforeseen relief, "Alright, we'll stay here the next few nights."

"Jax," Tara immediately countered with a hint of emotional panic beginning to undermine her prior facade of mundane serenity, "I'll be fine here by myself, you really don't need to sleep here."

Instantly, annoyance sparked to life again because what Tara really meant was that she didn't want to even rest under the same damn roof with him never mind curl up under the sheets beside him but his wife was fucking out of luck this in this skirmish as Jax leveled in a manner that brooked no argument, "Babe, you don't go anywhere, even here, alone."

Her head slowly dipped to the side under the weight of his unyielding statement. "You really think that I could be in danger don't you," Tara asked as worry finally crept into her gaze, "that wasn't just an excuse to get me to stay this morning was it?"

And, just like that, Tara expertly pulled the yo-yo string of his emotions once again; tightly coiling his aggravation back in and effortlessly rolling out the reassurance that he needed to give them both.

"Look, I'm sure that everything is going to be fine, that nothing will happen," his eyes sincerely implored her to understand the severity of their current situation without pressing for the illegal details, "but we gotta be a little more cautious for a while."

Once again, Jax rode the razor sharp line between need fully clasping Tara to him and recklessly driving her away for good. There wasn't a damn thing he could do about it either because there was no way he'd compromise her safety after everything that had happened in the past and the unsettling meeting he'd had with Romeo this morning.

No matter what, Jax just couldn't see her hurt again even if that meant that Tara's stay in Charming didn't entirely meet with her approval. He was going to stick as close to her as the unconventional wedding bands they'd inked into their skin over a decade ago. From the tender concern unexpectedly shimmering back at him from Tara's jeweled depths, it was perfectly clear that they'd both have to make another permanent adjustment soon because their innate connection obviously hadn't faded with the passage of time either.

* * *

><p>Gemma had always thought that the longer she and Clay were together, the closer they'd inevitably become. That unlike her relationship with Jax's father which had eventually become stagnant and withered into decay; they'd grow so inextricably bound, so intimately aware of the other, that there would be no uncertainty as to who the other person would become because they would be grafted into one, living and breathing, entity. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten another lesson Nate had patiently taught her in her youth, that sometimes when two branches were twined together to breed something even stronger, they instead shriveled and deadened not producing a good fruit because a rotten part was all too fallibly human.<p>

Just as she knew every petal, leaf, and stem of the floral tattoo that spanned her forearm, Gemma knew the insidious vines of treachery and deceit that had flourished in the verdant soil of her husband's black heart. There was no doubt he was capable of mercilessly beating Luanne to death, the question was whether Clay actually had killed her, and, if so, why?

Gemma didn't think that either Clay or Tig had been unaccounted for around the time they'd been notified about LuAnn's brutal passing but she couldn't recall with complete certainty either. She'd been wholly consumed by the ever widening rift between her husband and her son back then. A dangerous chasm had been rent by Donna's unfortunate demise and Jax hadn't easily reconciled the botched hit on a Brother that Clay had ordered behind the Club's back when it had taken the life of Opie's wife instead of his best friend.

It had been a very long and darkly twisted road but her boys had finally managed to steer through the worst of it and ride in tandem once again when she'd been endangered by a business rival. Gemma highly doubted Otto's threat today would mend the current tear in her family's normally unified fabric but, instead, would further unravel the tattered remnants completely. Still, Gemma had little choice in the matter, she'd have to give Clay threads of truth now or risk weaving a shroud of suspicion if one of the other guys mentioned something since there was no way to avoid telling Jax and Bobby.

With weary resolution, Gemma leaned down to place a habitual kiss of customary greeting upon her husband's scabbed lips as she confided into the sterile room, "Hey, Baby, we've got a complication."

Clay's gaze became positively feral as the pertinent details of her conversation with Otto turned him into the snarling equivalent of a lamed dog that'd rabidly fight his way out of any corner and, unfortunately for her, his vicious bite had always been more lethal than his gravelly bark.

* * *

><p>Grease laden hands and shirtless baggy jeans were a long forgotten aphrodisiac...<p>

Work roughened fingers clasped tightly around the hard metallic flesh of tools had always been legitimate foreplay...

The perfectly tuned bump and grind of their fondling movements made her engine purr deeply with satisfaction...

When Jax had volunteered to help Tara change the Cutlass' oil it seemed innocent enough but she'd neglected to recall just how much she'd always lusted after him whenever the dirty blonde would spread the magic of his expertly gaged fingers over the smooth body of anything with gears. His taut muscles had glistened with the sweaty evidence of his physical skill while demanding effort ran down his exposed back. The musky sheen never smeared the indelibly inked beauty it trickled over before seductively pooling at the base of his spine just above the puckered kiss of his boxers waistband, the heady liquid a tongue flicking vintage that always made her distinctly thirsty.

Yes, she might have forgotten but the sly gratification that danced with the small dimples of Jax's playfully seductive grin showed that her biker had known exactly how she'd react to his automotive ministrations.

And, even now, as she drove with Jax leading her escort in Piney's Caddy and Opie and Kip bringing up the rear, all Tara could think about was the male bounty that would soon be riding shotgun beside her when they eventually made their way back from the Teller-Morrow compound. It wasn't just the proximity of Jax's all too tempting physique in the vehicle's close confines that had Tara incredibly nervous or the vague element of danger posed by some clandestine criminal element that caused her alarm. No, it was the fact that as soon as the heavy metal door creaked closed behind him; they'd be alone.

No Brothers. No Gemma. No distractions. Just them.

It scared the shit out of her.

So much so, Tara almost hyperventilated from the terrifying fear silently stalking her.

Purposefully, she gripped the steering column for additional support after she parked near the clubhouse because Tara knew their imminent discussion would be pure emotional torture. Yet, she couldn't deny that the landslide of grueling truth needed to be shared before they were unexpectedly swept away and crushed by its suffocating weight at an inopportune time, or, worse, after Jax finally convinced her with his unwavering confidence that there was still an idyllic outlaw future ahead for them.

The man simply made every feminine part of her quiver with the want to believe his ruffian charm as Jax practically dared Tara to reclaim her rightful place at his side; a coveted position that her steadfast heart was practically forbidding her logical brain to classify as a really bad idea because it seemed that Jax had kept the spot vacant waiting for her return. Maybe, she just needed to wistfully imagine that the surreal fantasy he spun with virile ease could actually become their new reality since it's what she'd secretly dreamed about all these miserable years apart.

Still, yearning girlhood fancy aside, knowing that the churning storm of elemental honesty needed to be endured wasn't going to make facing this Clay-made disaster head on any less complicated for either of them, it just made its wrathful devastation even more painfully inevitable.

Finally resolved to the forecasted torment, Tara swung the driver's side door open before her ambivalent stalling raised eyebrows or more from anyone. She headed toward the limited shelter of the clubhouse to gather her overnight bag with resignation while Jax was already deep in discussion with a few of the guys in the garage across the lot. When she pushed through the door, Piney wasn't in his former spot at the corner of the bar and Tara wasn't sure if that was a blessing or not given his considerable penchant for liquor. Mildly concerned, she couldn't help wondering if the old grizzly bear had already ambled away to sleep off his excess consumption somewhere. Her inner query was temporarily stayed as Opie quickly trudged out from the opening to the back hall, essentially blocking her access with his wide frame, and startling her as he conspicuously ground out, "He's not in there."

Tara had been many things in her life but blindly stupid wasn't ever part of her repertoire and even if she'd never been gullible enough to believe one of Opie's deflections in the past, it was patently clear that her lifelong friend didn't want her headed towards Jax's room right now. So, of course, skepticism piqued, she wouldn't deviate one spec from her current mission by even the sparse distance of a misplaced click of her boot heel on the overly resonating concrete floor... especially now.

Curiosity was supposed to kill the cat but as the surgeon's sure hand popped open the battered apartment door, Tara could only wish for such an easy surrender into that good night. Instead, she felt brutally stripped raw in the stark light of day, skinned from the inside out, and ravaged by the gleaming ray of naive humiliation. Her tender flesh burned with searing pain as her splintered soul oozed with each bloody pulse of her foolish heartbreak because this wasn't their private haven anymore.

The four walls of Jax's room, that had once created an impregnable barrier to her father and Gemma's overbearing control after they'd come of legal age, wasn't her personal cocoon of safety now. Jax had certainly been there with other women, not so hypothetically nameless or faceless to her any longer either as Opie angrily reiterated an earlier command, "Ima, I told you to get your highly trafficked pussy out of our clubhouse."

While the tawdry blonde looked like she'd been ridden hard, often, and without care; Tara futilely wanted to doubt that it had happened with Jax but her overactive brain would only concede that it probably hadn't occurred yet today only because his room didn't reek of sex. It still held the subtle scent of warmed cotton imbued with the lazy aroma of their snuggled intimacy from this morning. Something which made it all the worse for Tara when the sodden tramp fluttered the wings of her false lashes slowly as tiny drips of water sparkled along her nude form like luminous butterfly kisses and taunted, "But, Jax likes me nice and shiny."

The triumphant pout mockingly splayed across the porn queen's mouth felt like the seediest of sucker punches and nearly made Tara sick as the royal cunt leaned a reigning arm against the bathroom frame, the pert nipples of her exposed breasts crowning her glaring claim, "Honey, you should wait outside now because I'm not losing Jax to the resurrected ghost of some bitch needlessly tattooed on his arm."

It hurt; stung her pride more than Tara wanted to admit to have reality slap her so roughly in the face.

There was a time, a special almost sacred period, when she'd been the only female to occupy this room, this bed, this space with him but, now, she was just one of many who'd past through Jax Teller's indiscriminate sheets.

"Tara, wait," Opie gruffly tried to stop her but she quickly snatched her bag and instinctively ran.

The reflexive need to lick her feminine wounds in private overpowered everything else, drove her furious flight out of the building, and was strong enough to elude Jax even when he rushed toward her fleeing vehicle. She could barely look at the bewildered man when he savagely screamed her name at the top of his lungs, each letter pounding against her inherent need to escape like the elemental beat of a jungle drum but instead of answering his innate call, Tara gunned the Cutlass for anywhere that her unfaithful husband couldn't follow.

Tara knew she should have been past the surety of his infidelity long before returning to Charming but her dumb heart still shattered all over again because of another one of Jax's broken promises. She was an eternal idiot forever relying on oaths that never seemed to carry more weight than the trivial air used to deliver their meaningless words but, somehow, her biker had always been the one hopeful exception to the hard lesson she'd learned in her youth.

No longer, Tara stonily vowed to herself, never again would she fall prey to the swaggering promise of trusting Jackson Teller so intimately because the man was still incapable of keeping them.

* * *

><p>His angry bellow echoed off the concrete and stucco like the rapport of a shotgun blast, his lungs pierced by the rapid fire of fear tearing through him, and his strained legs were nearly paralyzed by the hurt -the withering fuck you finality- emanating from of the hard look Tara struck him with just before peeling out of the lot.<p>

"What the hell happened," Jax worriedly panted as he sprinted back to his best friend who was already jumping on his bike to follow after Tara since Jax's Harley was still parked back at her father's place.

"Nothing you want to get into with her right now, trust me, Brother," Opie ruefully leveled as he swiftly strapped on his helmet. His friend's engine throttled along with his deep promise, "I'll handle Tara while you take care of that psycho bitch."

Instantly, Jax's icy gaze landed on the sultry strut of the well filmed whore making her way over to him as Opie roared away from Teller-Murrow once again in pursuit of Jax's wife for him. This shit seriously needed to end; Tara needed to understand once and for all that he wasn't letting her go and her years of abandoned freedom where she could recklessly take off as she pleased were over. Tara was his Old Lady and she was going to do what she was told where her safety was concerned or he'd fucking chain her to the back of his bike and make her because the cartel didn't dick around and neither would he.

As for the crazy trying to cuddle up to him in crowing victory now; Jax hadn't had trouble with Ima for months but he knew exactly who'd treacherously put her back on his scent.

He didn't need to look past his own bitch of a mother.

Gemma could seriously be a vindictive piece of work but this never would have happened if Jax hadn't gotten so drunk last summer on what had been his and Tara's tenth wedding anniversary and screwed the nasty bitch that'd always had a thing for him instead of a well experienced Crow Eater who knew her insignificance. He'd slovenly begged the star studded slut to make him forget with every salacious and debauched act. He'd fucked the blonde every way imaginable, in ways he never would have dared demean Tara with, but, even then, he'd only seen his wife's heartbreaking face.

Damn it, somehow, forcefully trying to drive Tara away from his emotionally enslaved mind with every hard thrust, something that had been for his own bitter self-preservation at the time might actually have worked far better today, on the real woman, than it ever had on her all-consuming memory.

Tersely, Jax dismissed his one night rut with a disdainful warning that she shouldn't flash her rancid pussy back their way again or she wouldn't even be allowed on Cara Cara turf because nothing about her acting, or anything else, was that good. Her inconsequential mewling didn't even register as he quickly rushed past her to grab his truck keys from inside the office.

As he slid into the gray cab and turned the sluggish engine over, it was humbling to realize that this was the second time today he'd been forced into a cage on behalf of his wife. And, yet, Jax knew without fail, that he'd willingly endure so much worse if Tara would just finally let him get close to her again, to let him sneak past her rigorous pretenses, and just honestly talk to him with the undiminished connection he'd seen before. If she didn't now, after letting him believe she would earlier, Jax didn't know what he'd do because he was so totally fucking lost in her that he'd never been able to find his way out of the maze of love and loyalty that she'd turned his heart and mind into while he'd still been an adolescent.

Of course, Jax reluctantly admitted to himself, it was all a mute fucking point if he couldn't even find her.


	11. Chapter 11

Returning to Charming had been nothing but a God damn emotional clusterfuck on wheels for her so far.

It spun Tara too fast, whipped her too far past her usual boundaries, and flung her painfully out of her sphere of personal comfort. It overwhelmed her senses; tangled up all the overlapping threads from the past and present with just too damn much feeling and wound them into a complicated skein of sentiment that kept Tara from reacting in the clinically detached manner she'd learned over the last decade.

Her expert training normally kept her surgeon's nerves steady and calm because Tara had thoroughly planned and practiced every conceivable failure of the human body especially when it came to the small organ that pumped blood through her veins. She'd even schooled her heart and mind to Jax's natural perfidy when it came to separating females from their panties long ago but knowing and seeing in such luridly vivid detail were two very different things. It was like the monumental difference between a flat, papered, texture free, dry lab and the full-bodied, three dimensional, cadaver filled version of the regular wet lab from her first human anatomy course. There was really no comparison or technique that inured you against your own instinctive reaction to being tossed a shocking gray lump of someone's spongy brain matter like it was nothing but a dog's slobbery ball for fetch; you either caught it and rolled with the goading punches from your fellow lab mates or you dropped it and ran away in horrified disgust when some organic tissue haphazardly splattered across your face.

This time, she'd unfortunately reacted more along the bitter lines of the drama filled version of her teens than her ordinarily staid and stoic adult self. Tara contemptibly mused, it was thoroughly humiliating. Idly, she swayed back and forth; the gentle almost lulling motion of the swing became a soothing balm to her frayed nerves even as she heard the crunch of leather and well-worn boots finally closing in behind her.

The deep voice swept over her shoulder with nostalgic affection, "Want an underdog?"

Tara inherently chuckled in response, "Not sure we'd manage it now." Negligently, she kicked at the wood chips that had been sand the last time she and Opie had been at this playground and teasingly added, "You've sure grown some since then."

"So have you, Doc," he quipped back like a rascally big brother pointing out a very firm grasp of the obvious to his dorky little sister.

"Maybe," she self-deprecatingly replied knowing that her most recent actions had been anything but mature.

"You've been here a while," the solid tower of tattooed man quietly stated as he leaned against the metal support beams instead of precariously squeezing into the swing beside her. He was clearly waiting and when she didn't immediately answer, Opie finally asked, "Wanna tell me about it?"

Remorsefully, she conceded to her childhood confidante, "I know that I shouldn't have gotten so upset."

The subtle pastel layers of the sunset blanketed the evening sky behind him making Tara feel like she was still a little girl hiding under her warm, protective covers in the middle of a raging thunder storm when her lip trembled slightly, "We've been apart for longer than we were actually together and it's not really like I expected him to be alone all this time especially with how you guys treat women but-"

"But it still hurt," Opie wisely finished for her without the slightest edge of judgment undercutting his assessment.

"Yeah, it did," she confirmed with no embarrassment this time because it was clear that her friend wasn't censuring her actions yet.

"And, instead of knocking Ima's front teeth out in a hissing brawl that we both would have preferred," Opie boyishly smiled like the juvenile delinquent he'd thoroughly been from amid the heavy set of whiskers falling down his face in a bushy waterfall, "you took the other immature route and stormed off in a girlie huff."

"Hey," Tara instantly denied only to reluctantly reconsider and grudgingly admit a half second later, "I suppose so."

She flashed him the same sheepishly guilty grin she'd used after inadvertently throwing out his misshaped Transformers lunchbox in the sixth grade when she'd been helping him dig out the unhealthy hovel he'd dared call a bedroom. He hadn't condemned her then for disposing of his favorite BB gun target but it seemed like Opie might not give her such leeway now so she quickly apologized, "It was a really stupid move to just take off like that especially after what Jax told me earlier."

"So don't do it again," Opie grunted back with her contrite admission not bothering to needle Tara about the trouble she'd potentially exposed them all to because of her impetuous tantrum. Instead, her friend took a very different tack when he knowingly led her down the natural trail of his running explanation, "Certainly not because of some overly handled merchandise from Cara Cara that's been after Jax ever since I took up with Lila and got her out of the life and, definitely not, since he's been avoiding her like the fucking plague for about a year now."

"That's really not any of my business," Tara immediately deflected not wanting to plumb the depths of her unmitigated relief that the tawdry blonde wasn't Jax's regular dipping pool but that certainly didn't rule out them having been fuck buddies at numerous points in the past. Again, Tara silently reminded herself, it wasn't her right to be upset about this anymore.

"Like hell it's not," Opie snorted back at her. "You're his wife."

"Opie, Jax and I," she wavered suddenly not sure how to proceed, "we've got some rough history to work through."

Tara furrowed her brow as she struggled to get him to understand, "We don't make sense now, if we ever did, and we can't pick things up like our relationship spent a decade on pause or was just frozen in time."

Tara's traitorous heart whispered that she was a liar; branding another mark on the dark caverns of her soul for even trying to deny that that was precisely the taunting promise that scrolled through her dreams at night.

"That's bullshit," Opie obstinately countered. "Jax has been real clear that he still considers you his Old Lady. He might have tapped some trash here or there over the years but none of them were lasting or important because they weren't you."

"Op, that's not fair," she sputtered back, "you found someone after Donna and so will Jax."

Each word Tara had uttered of that hideous claim suddenly felt like a ton of stone weighing down on her, crushing her, grinding against the longings of her heart, and smashing against the heavy truth that she had never wanted Jax to replace her in any way even if that made her horribly selfish all things considered.

"Sure, I'm with Lila and she's good with the kids but she's no Donna," Opie drilled her with his painfully sharp clarification. "She never will be but I don't have the option of my first love like Jax does."

"There's nothing left for me and Jax now," she denied in a weak tone that sounded pathetically false even to her ears.

"Yeah, well," Opie stated with the road worn confidence of a seasoned biker who saw what he saw and spoke his opinion just as plainly, "all this 'nothing' sure seems to have you running hurt and scared now doesn't it."

* * *

><p>The opening strains of Martie's viola happily strummed over him as Josh hummed along with his cherished iPod.<p>

He'd been legitimately disgruntled earlier, upset by Teller's continued presence at Tara's family home and thoroughly displeased by the supposed motorcycle enthusiasts' shirtless handling of the doctor and her vintage inheritance. Even so, the agent had been helplessly enthralled by Tara's graceful familiarity with the tools of a trade that wasn't her well-studied profession and wondered if automotive mechanics was a childhood hobby she'd enjoyed learning at her father's knee. That innocent notion was so much more comforting than the dark question that had lingered like a vicious predator in the murky waters of jealousy that flooded his mind when thinking that Tara might have learned her handy skill from another less savory man who should just stay in her past.

Josh had made a mental note to dig a little deeper into Tara's history than the cursory research he and Stahl had done before bringing her back to Charming so that he could permanently sweep that nasty suspicion to the side just when Tara's escorts, a white trash caravan of biking hoodlums, had forced her back to the M.C.'s dirty stomping grounds. Impotently, he'd gripped his steering wheel in white knuckled fury when Tara had rushed into that shithole the Sons deemed a clubhouse, worrying that his angel would once again be spending the night there in such demeaning squalor and knowing that there was little he could do about it yet.

He shouldn't have been so needlessly concerned because his little Tar Tar had taken care of things beautifully all on her own. It had given him near sinful delight to watch Teller unsuccessfully chase after the heavenly brunette when the lawless biker hadn't anticipated his bride's cunning exit strategy; however, Josh's pleasure was heightened even more because he most certainly had. He'd been the only one to know and understand the intimate workings of Tara's mind so well.

And, now, even as Tara made her way back to her familial home for the evening, Kohn knew- just as sure as the Irish lilt of the tin whistle that ended the Chic's music he'd had on repeat for over an hour- that Tara was still ready to run.

When she did; he'd be sure to catch her unlike Teller who'd had to send one of his lumbering Brothers in his place. As the soundtrack joyously cued up again, Josh ignored another one of Stahl's annoying calls as he pondered whether flowers would be too forward a gesture for his precious burden or if Tara would appreciate the traditional boldness of his romantic actions.

* * *

><p>The bonfire was the first good thing she'd seen or heard all day.<p>

Gemma's lips curled into a smug, self-satisfied smirk as she pulled into the Teller-Morrow lot to see the raucous crowd assembled around the flames; beer, bikes, and easy pussy abundantly on display shouted Tara's absence louder than some shitty sonic boom.

The racket was divine rhapsody to Gemma's overly protective ears.

Before she could wander toward the drunken group cavorting by the picnic tables, Tig headed her way. His sober expression as he cut across the cement square had Gemma slipping into her darkened office to wait for him. Whatever Tig wanted to skewer her for, she could hear about in private after she told him about her not so friendly visit with Otto.

"Hey, Sweetheart," she naturally greeted him with a hug.

Tig kissed her cheek as he asked based on the ingrained habit after so many years, "Hey, Gemma, you okay?"

"Not sure anymore, Tiggie," the M.C. Queen sighed back knowing that she was saying far more with her attitude than her words as she pulled away. "Where's Jax?"

"He's with Tara at her Dad's old place after that stunt you pulled," Tig bluntly replied from the other side of her desk. "You and Jax will eventually get past this, Gem, but you can't mess with him and Tara anymore."

"What are you talking about," she falsely admonished. "I wasn't even here."

The Sergeant at Arms' dark brows drew together as his hands flew out to his sides in disappointed question, "I got nothing but adoration for you, Gemma, so why you gotta lie to me like that?"

"But I didn't do anything," she continued to deny any culpability in what had surely been an amazing performance from Ima.

"Come on, Gem," her longtime friend rebuked her. "That porn slut's visit had your manipulative claws all over it. And I'm telling you that if you chase Tara away this time," he punctuated his all too astute opinion with the pointed circle of his fingers, "Jax won't ever forgive you."

His warning was laced with concern for her and tied together with his devoted understanding and care so she finally confessed, "I didn't trust her then and I don't trust her now."

"It doesn't matter if you do or not because Jax does and he can take care of himself, " Tig profoundly offered without a trace of malice just honest advice. "You want back in with your boy then you better find a way to make things right with Tara."

"She's a runner, Tiggie," her maternal fears surfaced an objection. "She's gonna hurt him again."

He tenderly reached out and encircled her in his leather clad embrace, the well broken in cut almost equally soothing to her as he sagely offered, "Then you let her break his heart all on her own but keep your hands clean so that you can be there to pick up the pieces."

"Tiggie," her voice filled with the tearful mist starting to cloud her eyes, "I just can't lose him."

"I know, Sweetheart, I know," his grip on her tightened in comforting reassurance for a few mintues before he drew back and evenly demanded. "Now tell me why you went out to Stockton to talk with Big Otto?"

Gemma should have known better than to think that Tig, of all people, would have missed a single thing that happened in her world whether good or bad. Not bothering to evade or slant the truth in her favor, the M.C.'s matriarch informed him, "Otto wanted me to let Clay know that he believed my husband might have had something to do with Luann's murder and, either way, that the Club needed to find the scumbag responsible for her death or else Clay was going to lose the one that he loved most."

"Awe, Gemma," Tig commiserated with the lethal loyalty that she'd never really doubted, "What did Clay want us to do?"

* * *

><p>Opie had offered to stay before they'd left the park but Tara had responsibly told him that he needed to go home to his kids. She'd even pride fully boasted that she'd be just fine alone with Jax but as Tara pulled into her drive and the safety of her friend's headlight zoomed away into the inky night; she was scared, vulnerable, yearning, hopeful, uncertain, wanting, nervous ...<p>

Tara was a landslide of many things all at once as she faced Jax again; however, she was definitely anything but fine.

Turning off the stream of light from the Cutlass did little to diminish his illuminated form in the dark. Jax was huddled under his hoodie as he sat waiting on her front stoop with a haphazard ring of departed butts littering the ground at his feet that testified that he'd already been there a while. She didn't need to smell his breath to know that he'd probably consumed more Jack than she'd want the paper bag covering the bottle between his legs to manifest.

Slowly, he pulled down the covering of his sweatshirt from his rumpled hair to reveal a man that looked just as broken as she felt.

Instinctively, Tara slipped down beside him to ease the burden they both felt; her knee brushed against his thigh on the narrow step making her shudder a bit with the intimate contact, the rush of still familiar comfort that just being close to him generated from the barren basin of her soul forced her to whisper, "I'm sorry I left the way I did."

Hopeful surprise flashed resurrected life into his alcohol deadened orbs as Jax explained, "I'm sorry about earlier too, I didn't mean for you to get hurt by whatever Ima did. She's just-"

"I really don't want to know," she cut him off not wanting any more sordid details about his illustrious sex life over the last decade than she'd already learned. She just couldn't handle the salacious information and still do what was necessary tonight.

"Right," Jax swallowed back the rejection that instantly spread through his body at her rebuff, breaking the tentative connection that Tara had been enjoying far too much, and killing a bit of the fervent expectation that had risen between them.

"We've both had lives apart from each other," she started then faltered under the staggering impact of his intense scrutiny, "but I shouldn't have taken off like that."

"No, you shouldn't have," his rusty tone scraped across the raw patches of her long-standing fear because they both knew that Jax wasn't just talking about what had happened today. When he looked at her, his battered blue depths showed her every emotional scar she'd given him, every torturous fleck of internal chaos her absence had caused, and every lonely stretch of insecurity that he'd ridden through alone over the years without ever knowing why.

Tentatively, Tara placed her soft palms on his hardened frame, tenderly embracing Jax's aching hurt and offering solace through the gentle nuzzling of their entwined foreheads as her words kissed across the open sores of his soul, "I never meant to hurt you either, Jackson. I'm so sorry that I did."

The crickets' nocturnal performance was the perfect accompaniment to their slow, shattered breaths as they clung to each other; their ravaged hearts temporarily soothed by the peaceful silence that sang so meaningfully between them.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to put alerts, favs, or, especially, to review this story. It's truly appreciated. This one didn't turn out with the exact tone that I was striving for but, well, I could probably stare at it for another week (or longer) and still not be satisfied so we're getting on with the tale anyway. And, again, thanks to everyone who has commented so far.**

He'd spent a long fucking night being royally pissed at the Mother Charter's reigning queen for instigating this mess.

That was; until Jax's frantic worry had burned off to something even darker with each fiery swig of whiskey he'd recklessly swallowed after Opie had texted that he'd found Tara but they were going to 'talk' so it could be a while. Uselessly sitting on the hard concrete of her stoop as his ass grew numb with the interminable wait; the lonely company of the searing liquid had merely fueled his wretched despair instead of drowning out his baser emotions. Each glassless shot he knocked back of the strong liquor punched right through him; hammered home the bitter reminder from his pained soul of every time he'd awakened to a feminine body draped over him and felt that half second of blissful contentment he'd fervently missed until the female's unclean scent, the less shapely curve of the her ass, or some other all too intimate discrepancy drove the cruel point straight into his heart that it wasn't his woman blanketing him with her warmth but a meaningless charade.

During those callously insignificant morning afters, he hadn't known why Tara had left him and he still didn't; not really.

As the Cutlass' headlights had flashed over him, Jax had known it was irrational to be jealous of his best friend but damned if he hadn't been in that blinding moment of envious clarity. Tara had opened up to Op, she'd cried on his shoulder the night before and, tonight, well, it had been hours of what exactly he didn't know just yet but it was way more than she'd bestowed upon her own damn husband so far.

He should have just been grateful that his Brother had somehow kept her in Charming and then gotten her safely back to him, and, yet, Jax just desperately wanted what he and Tara had been together when they had had it all figured out in their youth before everything went to hell. He wanted them back to how they used to be; when she'd leaned on him without a doubt and confided her secret problems while he eagerly listened with fists ready to hastily solve them for her if necessary. Jesus, how he wanted her to have never left him all those years ago and, damn it, he wanted to know just why she had before the snarling unknown ravenously consumed what was left of his pride.

It was good that his girl was talking but, shit, Jax wanted to be that someone she entrusted with her intimate thoughts just like it had always been once things had finally hooked up between them so long ago. Her sincere apology was a real nice start but Jax needed so much more as he pulled back from the soft, all too longed for, touch of her skin against his and raggedly demanded, "Babe, just tell me."

The bleakness of his tone disturbed the peaceful cover of the evening shade telling them both that he couldn't wait for answers anymore. He needed something that only she could offer and he wouldn't walk away without her giving it to him this time.

Slowly, Tara's appeasing hands fell away from his shoulders, taking away the gentle embrace of her soothing comfort just as her hesitant words forebodingly wrapped around him instead. "I," she warily stuttered a bit readjusting her tentative perch on the concrete step like she was a fragile bird tensed for a solitary flight in order to avoid further injury.

Her brows drew together in the cool night air, the temperature not crisp enough to keep the innate flush of fear from her skin before Tara resolutely looked up at him with a silent plea for forgiveness and understanding.

Then in a deliberate manner, she set her jaw and pointedly continued, "I found out I was pregnant just after I went to stay with my father's cousin in San Jose for school like you wanted."

Jax didn't need to be reminded that he'd purposefully sent her away so that Tara didn't have to deal with his mother's subtle manipulations and dangerous maneuverings without his physical presence in Charming as a buffering shield between the feuding women. At the time, he'd been afraid that Gemma would keep working the open sore in their trust-the lie that he'd inflicted on Tara right before they'd taken their vows- like a rabid dog with a bone. That his mother's vicious licks would make the wound fester and grow into something bigger and more putrid than it originally had been. Uncomfortably, Jax shifted knowing from the grim set of her mouth that he probably wasn't going to like what his Old Lady said next one little bit.

"I was still so angry about you making that deal... for not telling me first," Tara mercilessly grazed him with rusty guilt from her accusation laden glance. Fuck, Jax had intentionally deceived her and, obviously, neither of them had forgotten his betraying subterfuge even after all this time, "But I wanted to be the one to tell you even though I knew that Clay could have gotten you word through Otto during those first months at Stockton when you weren't allowed visitors."

Heavily, he exhaled frankly, "Shit, Babe, it would have made me crazy to know when I couldn't see you to make sure you were okay."

"I know," she flashed a sad half-smile in remembrance of that truth but that's not what suddenly made him nervous. Given her lingering malcontent over a decision he'd made without her input back then, a choice that had completely altered the promise he'd made for their future, he needed to know if she'd been ambivalent about the unexpected pregnancy too. If she had, Jax would probably be able to understand eventually but it would forever deaden something deep inside him if she hadn't wanted his baby at all.

He bit his lip uncertainly from the inside before he lowly sniffed out, "How did you feel about it, the baby, I mean?"

"Oh, God, Jax," she nearly cried out shaking her head back and forth as if Tara wanted to deny her swift surge of rough emotion, "I was so scared that I'd mess things up, that I wouldn't be able to care for a child by myself, and how you'd react when I told you but I wanted him," maternal tears sprang to her lushly watered eyes. "I wanted him so damn much."

Relief, strong and steady, furiously pumped through him letting that fearful part of him breathe again as Jax expectantly questioned into the inky darkness surrounding them, "Him?"

"I named him Abel," she sheepishly offered into the ambiguous space between them. Her wet gaze meekly sought his approval as Tara hastily explained, "I thought about a family name but I hadn't gotten to talk with you about any of that since you weren't allowed visitors for another week yet when...when-"

Her reed thin voice dropped off as Tara couldn't say it again. She simply couldn't repeat the brutality that she'd suffered at Clay's hands and, instead, he listened to her sidestep that by quietly stating as she swiped at the sorrow suddenly trickling down her cheeks, "I didn't get to name him until after... I was still unconscious from the emergency surgery but he was a little over twenty one weeks when he was born. He," she choked out through her sobs. "He lived for three hours and he deserved a strong name for fighting even for that long. He-"

"That's a good name," Jax verbally stepped over Tara's wracking doubt and grief at her choice in a solid effort to reassure her but his jaw rigidly clenched when a painful realization barreled through him, splintering what he'd known to be an utterly forsaken moment of his bitter past into something far more jagged and cutting. While he'd been anxiously waiting for the prison guards to call him up for his first visitation with her; Tara had been recovering from a heinous attack and then burying their child. The bewilderment, the bone deep disappointment, and the rankling fear that he'd carried with him from that day didn't even come close to rivaling what his woman had been stalwartly enduring.

Ruefully, it didn't escape Jax that she'd made their boy a namesake of the first person murdered in the Bible, killed by family, his own brother even. How fucking apropos Jax silently raged inside not wanting to scare Tara with the scalding cauldron of hateful wrath that simmered just under the surface of his stoic pain but he wasn't sure how much more anguished regret and mournful truth he could bear tonight.

Fuck, he'd wanted this, demanded it even, but watching Tara break apart under the night sky was sheer torture and he couldn't help but pull her into his arms, to try and safely harbor her from the bereaved melancholy that cloaked her like a second skin as woeful reminiscences poured forth over the crumbled dam of her troubled depths.

"I didn't even get to hold him before he-he... Jax, what if,"' Tara's sullen voice cracked through her torrent of tears, "what if he didn't know how much I loved him?"

"Tara, stop," he roughly pled as his large hand cupped the nape of her neck holding her even closer, "don't do this... don't do this, Babe, he knew."

"But, Jax," she savagely cried into his chest, "he was so small, so alone with no arms to comfort him, to protect him from...from... oh, God, those little wisps of golden fuzz capped his tiny body," her hands desperately tried to form around their son's phantom memory nearly felling him with the grievous emotional trauma she'd gone through without him.

"It was still so soft," she helplessly muttered through her muffled desolation, "but he was so cold, Jax, Abel was so cold." Her eyes closed in eternal regret as she sniffled, "They couldn't fix his heart... They didn't have anyone skilled enough to operate on him. My baby was already gone before I even got to hold him," she nearly screamed in bitter angst as he desperately yanked her to collapse fully into his sheltering embrace.

"Please, Babe," he begged for her to stop torturing herself, each drop of her grief burned his raw emotional underbelly, and shaved off pieces of his heart tearing him asunder because Jax knew down to the marrow of his bones that in that instant his son hadn't been the only one to feel abandoned, alone, and unloved. For the Club, for Clay, he'd left what was most precious to him unprotected and bleeding doubt that she was what mattered most in every way.

It nearly killed him to think that Tara had left him because he'd failed her and the child he hadn't even known about so abysmally back then but he wouldn't now; he couldn't. He'd never be able to look in the mirror and call himself a man if he didn't fix this somehow. Anxiously, he ran forlorn hands over her face, trying to absorb her distraught pain along with her tears until he realized that so many of them were already mingled with his own.

"Jax," she unexpectedly grabbed his tattooed forearm somehow in even greater distress than before trying to make him listen, "Clay said something that-"

"Shhh, Babe, it's okay," he tenderly hushed her. He didn't care about what a walking dead man had said; Jax only wanted to make her near hysterical misery stop. Something primal within him needed to make her agony end with everything that he possessed. His woman had been deeply hurt and his natural male inclination was to offer her the refuge of his loving body and his soul deep need because it was the only way he could think to save them both in that desperate moment.

Purposefully, he curved a calloused palm around her cheek, the pale surface wetly shimmering in the moonlight like an iridescent pearl set against the midnight velvet of the late summer firmament. The sheen of her luminous skin was a beacon, calling him, silently beckoning him on, leading him along the sacred path to their salvation.

"It's okay," Jax soothed his whiskered lips along her upturned face as he unhurriedly drug work roughened fingertips of solace along skin still spun from the finest of silk as he tried to temper her soft mewls of sorrow.

Again, he mollified with the low timbre of his consoling voice, "it'll be okay."

The subtle caress where their bodies made placating contact wasn't nearly enough for him. Tara was his beginning, his end, and every God damn thing in between; she always had been and a tragic decade apart hadn't eroded her from the bedrock of his foundation because nothing ever would.

Jax knew that he needed her that he wanted to love her, to feel that infinite connection with her again but it had been so very long since he'd actually touched the hallowed depths of her feminine form in such an intimate way. Elemental need warred with a blatant fear of rejection as he held her tear streaked face in the palms of his undeserving hands and unhurriedly dipped toward the long forbidden welcome of her quivering lips.

He gave Tara plenty of time to pull away from their impending kiss as blue haze settled implacably over green mist, however, their emotionally shattered gazes never faltered as their battered hearts wantonly entwined with the first sweep of masculine whiskers over soft female flesh. The delicate balance of give and take as their tongues rasped over and along the others in a landslide of amnesty for past wrongs was a natural balm that soothed their ravaged souls but kindled a different kind of burning fire between a man and his woman that was as old and undeniable as time.

* * *

><p>His love was branded all over her; it was everywhere all at once and, thankfully, everywhere in between too.<p>

Jax's affection had stealthily slipped over the self-dug trenches of her doubt and swept inside her, thickly filling her longing depths with the promise of mending his broken oath; the one that had nothing to do with fidelity. His adoration had withstood her almost paralyzing fear of his condemnation and a decade of lonely maternal grief as he offered her the tender mercy of forgiveness for failing to protect their son, the reprieve that she'd never expected with every healing thrust and consoling slide of his well toned frame against the fallen grace of hers.

This wasn't the rushed, sometimes awkward, mating of their early teens or the sensual wonder and expertise of their later youth; this had been the culmination of mature love cured by fiery heartache and set by the passage of time, a purely elemental need fueled by an essential desire for compassionate reconnection. An innate drive that overpowered their senses and snuck into those tiny cracks and small fissures that had hidden years of stinging hurt and darkly steeped loss as they slaked their mutual grief and pain in the receptive warmth of the others body.

This had been so much more than an amorously satisfying act; this had been physical absolution for them both.

Tara wasn't sure exactly how but they'd made it inside her father's cluttered house and to the freshly made bed before their clothes had been completely stripped away along with so many emotional barriers from their past. When Jax's calloused hand had reverently palmed the ridged scar that now ran along her lower abdomen, a mutilated testament to pristine flesh that had once nurtured their son's far too brief existence, she'd nearly broken down again. His blue depths had swirled with an overwhelming remorse for what they'd both lost that eddied with darker pools of sworn vengeance and an almost shamed plea for her reciprocal forgiveness.

It was nearly too much undiluted emotion for Tara to endure but, in the end, she'd done the only thing that she really could. Inevitably, she welcomed Jax back into her loving arms just as poignantly as he'd accepted her; personal failings and all the other shit that made mortality and love a refiner's fire amid a blazing storm of pain forgotten in the blissful surrender of knowing she was finally back with who she was supposed to be with.

Always, it had been Jax.

Contentedly, she rested her head on Jax's well-defined chest, the firm muscle still slick with a sheen of perspiration from their pleasurable endeavors earlier. Tara knew that this illusion probably wouldn't last. She needed to tell him the whole truth about what happened with Clay for she didn't know if Jax was done forgiving her just yet, if her ruggedly sensitive man had already used up his entire well of leniency with her tonight or if Jax would be able to offer her clemency for what Tara had done or, more precisely, what she hadn't done all those years ago.

Tara would never know until she leveled the gavel of that damning truth like she'd fully intended before Jax had initiated his own very personal form of grief counseling. No matter, she still needed to tell him everything like she'd decided to after talking with Opie but the doctor didn't want to squander a precious second of this long denied peace either because it could all be too fleeting.

Familiarly, Jax's adroit fingers entwined with hers and his gravelly voiced whispered into the dim bedroom, "You okay, Babe?"

All she could do was silently nod her answer against the hard plane of his body. Tara had basked in the only loving touch she'd ever known tonight and she didn't want to give it up prematurely. She didn't know if this committed pretense would ignominiously fade away with the dawn once Jax knew everything but, until then, she willfully embraced the closeness of him, flooding her senses with his tactile beauty and the sun warmed scent of leather and smoke that had tenaciously clung to his skin even after the reckless abandon they'd ridden to their own emotional freedom earlier.

Tara didn't want this surprise interlude of serendipity to end and, yet, she couldn't help but timidly ask, "Are you, Jax?"

"I don't know, Tara," he murmured quietly. "I've never lost someone quite like this before."

"What can I do to help you," she craned her neck in hopes of see his honest response to her question by the moonlit filtering in through the far window.

"Don't leave," his husky timbre tingled along her spine making her all too aware of the close proximity of his demand as Jax rolled over and nudged his way into the lush cradle of her thighs relishing their reclaimed intimacy just as much as she did. Somehow, if things could always be like this for them, Tara knew that she'd never want to be anywhere but by his side.

Unfortunately, the real world would surely intrude soon enough but, for now, as Jax's tongue hungrily delved past her lips like she was a veritable feast, Tara couldn't think past staying exactly where she was; blissfully, under him.


	13. Chapter 13

Jax awoke with a start momentarily confused by the nondescript walls that surrounded him like a completely generic and unidentifiable box.

Then; he felt her.

She wasn't just a forlorn figment of his yearning imagination or a cheap substitute arbitrarily plastered to his side like a cruel taunt; Tara was real. Her cherished warmth was draped over him like a life-sized security blanket keeping most of the old fears and skulking insecurities at bay for the second morning in a row and it made having Tara's pleasing curves so sweetly anchored to his hardened frame a divinely personal experience that he never wanted to wake without again.

Carefully, Jax pulled her even closer against him with the gentlest of touches not wanting to rouse her just yet as he almost reverently inhaled the natural perfume that had always seemed to simply emanate from her like an essential oil rising from the heat of Tara's petal soft skin. The crumpled cotton now puddled at their waists wasn't responsible for the crisp linen scent that billowed around them like freshly laundered sheets caught in the lazy breeze of summer's golden embrace. No, that was purely his girl; it always had been.

Tara was everything good in his God forsaken world and he'd lain awake watching her for hours last night after their most recent dose of healing gratification had more than sated their fevered bodies. Fully enthralled, not wanting to succumb to sleep, his eyes had lovingly traced over every exposed inch of her pale skin; the silken texture had still glowed as if it was dusted with the moonlight's genteel kiss under the possessive claim of his whisker burns.

The pink hued marks had eased his racing mind some as Jax had held her flush to his side where he always wanted Tara to be, near frantic to believe that, somehow, she'd still be there in the morning because the biker had instinctively known that his Old Lady was still holding something back. That subtle warning had whispered along his spine just as the pricking sting of her short nails dug into the small of his back as if Tara was trying to pin the powerful memory of him to her forever. That caution had roughly pulled at him with the desperate clutch of her fingers in his hair as she fully memorized the heady mix of loving worship and raging lust etched upon his passion infused features. Mostly, though, it had been readily apparent in the haunted feeling that ghosted over him with each of her last phantom-like caresses, the lilting feeling of goodbye that lingered after each touch and the fearful specter of the shuttered look that had been her only answer to his implicit need for Tara to stay.

She'd nearly buried him alive with the landslide of grief and loss his wife had already unleashed but it was clear that there was something besides Abel's passing still weighing Tara down. She'd tell him, eventually, but, until then, he'd been left to stew overnight in his own presumptive juices. They'd left a rather bitter flavor in his mouth as Jax remembered Tara making a sage point of them both having led lives apart from each other when hastily skimming over the reality of his past sexual conquests.

Was that it?

Did his wife have her own mattress history that she'd rather not share with him? Or, worse, was there someone of significance still waiting for her back in Chicago? Was all of the raw beauty of their emotional intimacy just a long overdue farewell itch of some sort on her part or did it mean so much more to her as well?

Damn it, this was exactly why he didn't like to even think about relationship stuff where Tara was concerned because in the past it had usually turned him into a suspiciously jealous idiot; a vulnerable crazy man that insipidly needed to be with Tara all the time or it would kill him type of pussy. He'd told her that whatever this new thing between them would become that it wouldn't be part of that past so his mental torture session of doubt was utterly ridiculous and completely uncalled for which, thankfully, the rational part of his brain finally recalled because Tara had never been one to fuck indiscriminately.

His woman might have a secret that was still making her bleed internally but she'd never have so completely surrendered to what pulsed elementally between them last night if she'd given her loyalty to someone else. With sudden clarity and renewed masculine confidence, Jax placed a reassuring hand lower on Tara's back right over the unfurled ink that would forever mark her as his just as the V.P. heard the annoying chirp of his cell break the solitude of the moment once more.

Jax knew his phone would likely start ringing again soon from the pocket of his castoff jeans that littered the thickly carpeted floor somewhere between the front door they'd recklessly crashed through and the back bedroom they'd barely made it to during the initial frenzy of their joining last night. He didn't want to leave the ardent confines of their bed for any reason, however, he knew that whoever had been persistently trying to contact him on the prepay through the wee hours of the night wasn't likely to give up now.

With considerable regret, Jax eased his way out of Tara's snuggling hold on his body and, nude, stumbled toward the offending little intruder just as it chimed again letting him know that there was another text message awaiting him. Automatically, he flipped the phone open as he simultaneously rubbed an annoyed hand over his weary face before reading the electronic communications that had annoyingly peppered his peace with their high pitched pings. Still, Jax wasn't fully alert until he nearly barked out an explosive curse at the troublesome repetition of Tig's unwanted interference.

Hastily, Jax threw on his rumpled outfit sans the boxers he couldn't find in the low morning light that was just beginning to peak through the various windows. He'd have to rush to grab his cut and be out the door before his Brothers pulled up but Jax couldn't resist returning to the bedroom; to dwell there with Tara for a moment longer in easy contentment. She looked peaceful, innocent, almost like a sleeping princess in one of those all too contrived Disney animations but theirs was no fairytale despite him being the heir apparent to Charming's motorcycle world. And, yet, as he placed a chaste kiss goodbye to the pale crown of her forehead; Jax knew that Tara would always be the raven haired beauty who reigned over his heart.

He was just slipping out the front door when Tig and Half Sack pulled into Tara's now overly crowded drive. The loud rumble of their engines overpowered the tranquility of the sleepy street as neighbors lights sporadically popped on like fireflies at dusk.

"I've been trying to call you all night," the Sergeant at Arms rowdily accused as the older man stalked toward him.

"Yeah, I could tell," Jax dismissively replied as he moved astride his bike. Once seated, he tossed the Prospect the key ring to his infrequently used cage and succinctly ordered with a nod. "Sack, stick with Tara again today. Call Miles over too and use the truck to haul away whatever shit she doesn't want to keep but don't let her do too much," he cautioned. "She had a rough night."

"Got it," the grunt eagerly responded with perfect understanding. "We'll help Tara with whatever she needs."

Jax liked the deferential manner the kid inherently used toward his Old Lady but got distracted from saying anything more when his patched Brother put a scarred boot of contemptible restraint on his bike demanding his attention. Slowly, the unkempt blonde looked up from the overt challenge that barred his Dyna from moving and into laser blue eyes that lanced over him in deliberate warning, "Don't ever forget your first priority."

"I didn't," he stonily answered back harshly staring Clay's right hand down with equal intensity. "Now, get your foot off my bike so I can go handle this shit with Otto."

Reluctantly, the older biker removed his blocking limb and snidely smirked at Jax's lack of additional consideration, "Don't worry, I'll watch out for Gemma today."

"Yeah, you do that," Jax testily rejoined not wanting anything to physically happen to his mother yet still wholly unwilling to get past his more than justified anger with the conniving woman who'd birthed him but had also wielded a black hearted manipulative hand in the death of his own flesh and blood.

Once again thoroughly pissed, Jax suddenly resented the oppressive binding of his V.P. patch that forced him to rev the bike's engine and take off like a bullet all the while acridly wishing he was still wrapped in the serenity of Tara's slumbering embrace instead of churning inside over a baby boy he'd never even seen.

The buzzing of security doors signaled the timely arrival of his visitor.

Otto might only have a mere ten percent of his previous vision but the inmate could clearly see the fury and need for retribution pumping through the younger man's veins under his superficial calm as Jax purposefully strode toward his table. They were baser emotions that Otto had become intimately acquainted with throughout his misbegotten life but they'd become his ever constant companions since that ATF bitch's visit; never giving him a placid moment alone in the only place that he'd previously enjoyed indomitable freedom in this concrete hellhole that had become his living tomb.

The virile planes of his overly productive mind were now tainted with the carnal images of his woman's petite but well rounded form discarded like inconsequential bloodied trash alongside a rural county highway. Her body bruised, broken, and wearing a trail of wooden splinters that foretold the brutality of her last conscious minutes but not the actual perpetrator of the atrocity, at least, not yet.

"Hey, how's the eye," Jax greeted him with a long-standing camaraderie that still reminded Otto so much of the original Teller who'd created the brotherhood that had become his family so long ago. The Sons were born from a youthful notion of living on the cutting edge between passion and reason regardless of the trivial legalities involved by a man who'd tempered his lethal might with an innate sense of right, fair-minded justice that didn't always prevail in their outlaw world. J.T. had been a natural leader who was nothing like the self-serving King that had usurped his throne and family after the older Teller's death but Otto figured that he was about to see whether John's offspring had become a product of nature or nurture.

The metal tabletop top was flat and cool just like his low tone as Otto replied, "Still healing but that's not why you're here."

"I know," his younger Brother evenly stated while waiting for him to get down to their real business as Jax surreptitiously took in the other scraggly occupants in the visitors' room.

"What happened to Luann," he swallowed past the painful lump of angry regret that suddenly threatened to choke him. "Could that have been Clay?"

"I don't know, man," Jax sighed ruefully with a grimace after a long moment. "He didn't want us being in the porn business, that's for sure, but Clay didn't have a reason to go after her," his fellow biker steadily explained. "And, we liked that scumbag producer, Georgie, for it since he'd been hassling her and skipped the country that next day but we couldn't put hands on him to make sure."

"Not having a reason didn't stop Clay from roughing up your Old Lady," he rejoined pointedly not enjoying the immediate spark of temper that blazed in the other man's flaming blue depths at all yet reconciled to doing what was necessary to exact his personal retribution since his Brothers hadn't seen fit to oblige him yet. "If he could do that to Tara pregnant, what would he have done to Luann since she was letting Bobby tap her?"

"Before I would have sworn that Clay wouldn't have done anything like that," Jax's voice got extra thick with barely concealed grief over what Otto assumed was the son he'd lost before the other man hesitantly continued. "Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, "Clay is capable of doing shit like this even though there's a prison clause but it still doesn't make sense."

"Why's that," Otto couldn't help but ask. He was no fool; there was no doubt in his mind that the forensic report was accurate, however, there were a shitload of ways to explain away Munson's DNA deposit with some being more excruciatingly painful than others. Somehow, the incarcerated man was still hoping to receive one that didn't leave him feeling completely hollowed out by this betrayal with every remembered sacrifice scraping a bit more of his failing shell away from the inside.

"Shit, Bobby," Jax looked at him across the table with a disbelieving furrow of his brows. "That guy is usually only interested in being face down in either red bush mountain or a plate of food somewhere and, Luann," his Brother paused to be inherently more respectful. "She was always real good about showing up to support the family type stuff but your Old Lady preferred to flaunt that she was making good money selling others having sex and not doing any of it herself. This just doesn't sit right," he added. "Nobody knew shit about this until the fallout from your visit with Gemma yesterday."

"The facts are the facts," Otto rejoined with rusty emphasis. "My Brother and my wife got together somehow and then somebody killed her. The Club owes me some answers and, maybe, even more," he roughly leveled with an unspoken but perfectly heard...or else.

"What do you want me to do here, Otto," Jax questioned with rising hostility.

"I want to see Bobby," Otto demanded with a razor thin cut to his rapier tone, "and I want to know who killed Luann, why he did it, and I want that bastard to savagely regret every damn second of his cruelty."

"Alright, man," Jax answered with a dark, gritty understanding that the younger man might not have fully comprehended before the devestating revelation of his own loss recently. "We'll figure this out, I promise," he added with finality, "but no more talk of harm to women. There's been too much of that shit already."

Resolved that genetics had taken this round with the Sons' heir apparent, Otto silently nodded his acquiescence.

It was truly amazing what you could get done when you were thoroughly irked and intentionally forced yourself not to care about anything.

Purposefully, Tara stuffed another pair of her Dad's outdated corduroy pants into the donations box figuring that some high-schooler would, at least, happen upon a good costume for a vampire inspired decade dance at Goodwill once she was done clearing out the outmoded fashion trap her parents' closet had become after her mother's passing. Hats, belts, vests, and God only knew what else had been gathering dust in there for longer than was probably healthy; she shuttered thinking about the nasty conglomeration of dust mites that had probably been living in high cotton and polyester behind the simple door.

Tara absentmindedly grabbed her next handful of wire hangers intent on being even more industrious and even less ambiguous about keeping items that would only become more useless clutter for the busy surgeon once she eventually returned to her small apartment in Chicago and that's when she saw it; that unmistakable, tiered confection of pale cloth and ruffled lace that had been a common thread in her childhood fantasies of marital bliss.

Gingerly, she fingered the square lines of the puckered bodice down to the ornamental band along the empire waist of her mother's gunny sack styled wedding gown. As a little girl, Tara had slipped into this garment often, the bottom flounce of the long skirt's length always tripped her up but it never stopped her from crawling up to stand atop her mother's prized hope chest that had stood at the foot of her parents bed to dreamily admire her bridal reflection in the wide mirror flanking the opposite wall.

Lost in tactile memories, her fingers could almost feel the scuffed surface of the once smooth wood under the fleshy pads she now rubbed together as her mind's eye delicately traced the thin, dizzy circles of marred unfinished wood peeking through the darkly stained surface after she had giddily twirled to her little hearts content in a pair of her mother's spiked heels.

It wasn't until her maternal parent had urged her down that either of them had discovered the damage that Tara's stint with dress-up had caused but her mother, true to form, had gracefully hugged her tears of childish guilt and upset away as the loving woman poignantly smiled at the scratches and explained that those flaws and imperfections are what would always make it hers to cherish and keep.

At the time, Tara's youthful heart hadn't understood past the maternal forgiveness she'd been wrapped up in but, now, older and somewhat wiser, she saw the simple beauty in her mother's truth. Even though the wooden chest was long gone, the beloved memory of what had happened with it was indelibly written on her soul offering sage wisdom if she'd just allow herself to listen.

Instead, the stubborn doctor gave her cell phone the evil eye, glaring at it, willing the tiny piece of technology to ring with the only voice that she wanted to hear right now but it remained as silent and uncommunicative as a certain absent blonde had been this morning.

Yep, she was still pissed.

She'd heard the rustling in the kitchen hours earlier and figured that it was her man rooting around for his basic elixir of life; a creamy black nectar that would flow through his veins with a necessary boost of caffeine that had always been a part of Jax's morning ritual just as much as his first smoke of the day.

Smiling in anticipation, she'd sauntered out of the bedroom thoroughly rumpled with well mussed hair, a skimpy tank, and Jax's masculine boxers slung low, catching on the curved sway of her very feminine hips, in just the way they'd always driven him crazy back in high school. She could still remember the body skimming look of hungry retribution he'd given her when Tara had pranced out of the locker room for gym class wearing a purloined pair of his loose underwear and one of his plain white wife-beaters certain that Jax's fingers would be itching to cut class and greedily reclaim his clothing from his girl but also knowing that he'd be wholly incapable of doing so after losing their bet. He'd never have welshed, even with only minutes left on the clock tallying his lost wager but Opie's smirking derision at his best friend's hardened predicament had only been the perfectly fluted crust to her ample serving of humble pie for Jax having underestimated her ingenuity with the police cruiser.

And, yet, he'd been the one to thoroughly outsmart her this time because she'd been foolish enough to believe the promise of something more flecking his fathomless blue depths again. Tara still couldn't believe that Jax had left her that way; snuck out without even saying goodbye like she was some inconsequential fuck.

It felt just like her honeymoon all over again; when she'd been rudely smacked in the face with her groom's silent deceit.

Jax had married her, earnestly vowed to always be with her with the sweetest tone of commitment she'd ever heard underscoring his gravelly promise, all the while knowing that he'd already agreed to take a plea bargain that would send him to Stockton for a minimum of fourteen months of separation. What she'd thought to be a windswept romantic gesture for a desert ceremony had been a disarming ruse to keep her from finding out until after Jax had made his dishonest pledge to her.

That crushing realization had left her feeling so trivially insignificant and utterly duped by the only male she'd trusted without fail because Jax had used his intimate knowledge of her sacred levels of devotion to bind her to him in a way that Tara had never truly been able to put aside.

And, she hadn't; not then, not now.

Yet the last thing Tara had expected was becoming physically entwined with Jax again last night. No, the doctor had meticulously planned on telling him grievous things that were rightfully his to know but her best of intentions had easily fallen prey to the lethal need emanating from Jax and she couldn't deny either of them what she'd thought had been a profound healing of their enjoined bodies and, truthfully, that's what it had been she reticently admitted to herself over her rueful embarrassment.

Through their mutually awkward fumbling over her well sexed look in Jax's all too revealing skivvies; Tara had learned from a blushing Kip that even though he'd had to leave, the V.P. had given her plenty of help for the day and would likely be checking in periodically as well.

And, now, her running irritability probably came more from feeling slighted the morning after than because of Jax's past mistake but it was all a mixed up jumble of lesser female emotions that even gave her a headache to try and untangle. Jesus, why were things always so complicated?

Setting her mother's gown delicately to the side, Tara knew one thing that should be rather simple and straightforward for her to accomplish today with or without Jax Teller's stellar conversational skills. Purposefully, she snatched up her phone, bag, and keys calling to Kip along her way to the Cutlass.

As Tara rushed past her husband's rather useful truck, almost full with another load headed for charity, she drew up short at the overly romantic gesture sprinkled across the wide expanse of her windshield.

The guys might have teased him about being pussy whipped as a teen but even at his sweetest, Jax had never brought her flowers and she seriously doubted her bad ass biker would start now no matter what doghouse he might have been trying to scamper out of because of his mangy ways with women.

Shit, she didn't have time for this perplexing distraction Tara grumbled as she brushed the fragile petals from the slick glass covering her dashboard to make her way to Charming's generally most useless offices, the local police station, so that she'd be prepared to bare the other half of her reeling truth to Jax.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've written this chapter twice now because of a klutzy iPad blunder that forced me to get a new device and my backup didn't actually include my latest writing. Yes, graceless and stupid, those are just a few of my fabulous faults. Now, I'll admit that the first version was better but that probably has to do with it forever becoming part of the unreadable ether and I can't reasonably compare the two, at this point, so my memory is recalling the other chapter as being greener pastures. Or, it could be this nagging story idea for another Jax and Tara saga that has taken up residence in my brain, totally bugging me, and distracting me worse than my kids. One paragraph for this, two paragraphs for that, and vice-versa…ah, if I told you that there are too many literary voices in my head right now; would ya'll call me crazy? Yeah, that's what I thought. Anyway, on with the next part of this tale after writing a novel for an author's note. _

_Oh, and thank you to everyone who has alerted or favorited this story or, especially, taken the time to review, it's greatly appreciated._

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><p>She looked like every single unchaste heroic fantasy he'd ever had about rescuing her as a teenager all rolled into one damn fine reality as Tara made her way unerringly toward him in the station for another impromptu reunion of sorts.<p>

The gentle sway of her jean clad hips, the easy kiss of her dark locks across her pale shoulders, and the snug fit of her simple tank made stalwart parts want to stand at attention until her soft hands skillfully put him at pleasurable ease but David guiltily arrested his unusually prurient thoughts knowing that his longtime friend was unlikely to be at the station house now because of his hardening manly attributes. Rather, she was probably seeking the protection that the unyielding metal of his shield could provide the doctor against the Sons' uneasy shadow looming awkwardly behind her. Clearing his throat, the Deputy Chief overlooked the lanky Prospect seemingly glued to her side and cordially greeted, "Tara, it's good to see you again so soon."

Desperately, he fought the urge to pounce on her; to fervently pound her with enough questions to glean the real reason behind what was certainly an official visit so that he could legally shake her from Teller's unworthy clutches once and for all. However, the lawman didn't want to spook her unnecessarily now that Tara was finally coming to her senses so, tactically, he chose to stick with mundane pleasantries for the moment. Purposefully, he ignored the hush that had befallen the main squad room as his subordinates seemed rather suspiciously attuned to his benign conversation with Jax Teller's prodigal Old Lady.

"Hey, David," the brunette ingénue belatedly smiled a natural acknowledgement in return, "I'm glad I caught you here."

Not wanting to rise to her verbal bait too eagerly, he placidly commented, "My brother said that you came by yesterday to get the keys to your Dad's place so that you could clear things out. How's that going?"

"Actually, that's kind of why I'm here," she replied with an off kilter grin that made him uneasy. "In going through my Dad's things, I came across some stuff about an accident when I was a kid that I can't seem to remember. I know that it's kind of silly after all this time but since both of my parents are gone now and I can't ask either of them; I was kind of hoping to see a copy of the police report," she conspicuously emphasized her request by not blinking. "I just want to get it all straight."

He didn't need to be a well-trained cop to know that Tara was lying about something here because she'd never been that adept at deception.

Her tell had always been the widening of her lush green eyes; the orbs would suddenly shimmer with that brilliant illusion of an open, flat, untouched emerald field glistening un the summer sun just inevitably waiting for the verdant beauty to be trampled to matted mud when her falsehood was discovered. Regardless of her excuse and his mounting disappointment that this wouldn't be his knight with a shining badge moment, he directed her to the officer in charge of the archived files anyway all the while hoping that she'd still seek him out again when Tara finally wanted a different type of assistance.

Thoughtfully, he watched his boyhood crush stroll down the hall with the M.C. grunt yapping at her heels like a pokey little puppy. He didn't know how a bunch of criminal thugs managed to garner such loyalty but the officer knew without a doubt that the gangly young war vet would do anything to earn his top rocker including trail after his V.P.'s estranged wife like he was a living and breathing set of human shackles.

Just as Tara rounded the corner and disappeared from his view, David heard the annoying and wholly unwanted voice of the haughty bitch he'd previously made the mistake of having sex with ask, "What did Mrs. Teller want?"

Instinctively, David turned toward her with a blatant warning in his unbending stature and low, even keeled, proclamation, "Tara is none of your concern."

"What's the matter Deputy Chief," the skinny blonde intentionally needled him. "You got a little stiffy for the good doctor?"

"What I've got," David berated her with a stern reminder of the agent's past damage, "is a friend that I don't want to see get hurt like Donna Winston by anymore of your shenanigans."

Normally, he'd consider an insinuating comment like that about collateral damage hitting below the belt but the ATF woman had long ago proved that she had balls of steel and her nuts weren't in any danger of cracking anytime soon. Plus, given the speculative look Stahl was still giving to the area where Tara had last been seen, David knew he was going to have to work double time to keep his favorite brunette out of the agent's dangerous manipulations this time because there was no way he'd let her become another casualty of Stahl's war with the Sons.

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><p>He been staring right at her and, yet, he'd still missed her.<p>

Josh's fury burned so deeply inside there was barely a hint of warning smoldering around his normally polished edges. He'd been so intent on diligently following behind her every step that the lawman hadn't taken the necessary lead when he should have to go inside the police station. If he'd just taken that initiative, Josh could have enjoyed his little Tar Tar's trip to see him instead of fuming over the lost opportunity to visit with her in person today.

Next time he made a courting gesture by giving her flowers, Josh would make sure to do so face to face. He didn't want to miss the sweet smile of her gratitude or the tender nuances of her appreciation offered solely for him since those were 'first moments' between them that should be savored and cherished.

Ignoring his partner's urgent voicemail about finding another piece of damning leverage over the Sons, he courteously sent a text to the lovely doctor expressing his regret about missing her this time. And, silently, he vowed never to do so again.

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><p>He'd told her not to leave but Jax obviously hadn't followed the sage wisdom of his own edict.<p>

He'd been a boneheaded idiot that didn't need the Prospects sheepishly informing him of Tara's less than happy demeanor about his very notable absence that morning. By the time he'd left Otto at Stockton, Jax knew that leaving without waking his wife might have been badly misconstrued on her part after the intimate joining they'd shared last night. He'd thought of calling her right then but the house phone had been disconnected when her father had passed and he'd be damned before the casanova of the M.C. world admitted to the grunts that he didn't even have his Old Lady's cellular digits.

However, he should have let his pride take a vicious beating because it was hours past when Jax had reasonably thought he'd have been returning to explain everything to Tara and she was surely pissed by now. There had been one mishap after another that somehow needed the vital input of Redwood's V.P. before anyone could make a half-intelligent move and that only exacerbated his already foul mood as Jax's day uncontrollably slipped out of his hands. Plus, his current conversation with Bobby wasn't improving it any either because what he was learning was not going to resolve things with the big guy inside any time soon.

Jax took a steadying drag from his cigarette as he sat atop the picnic table in front of the clubhouse and warily eyed his Brother as their Treasurer hesitantly explained, "Neither of us really cared about the other but I'd been tapping Luann since I took over the books at Cara Cara."

For a judicious moment, Jax mulled over what Bobby had said and, most noticeably, what the man hadn't claimed about his affair with Otto's Old Lady as he slowly exhaled the smoke through his pursed lips. Nodding his head to get a better understanding, he confirmed, "You started doing her right from the beginning."

"Yeah," the older man guiltily sighed into the dusky night. "It still feels shitty after all this time though."

"Sorry, man," he automatically offered but something just didn't seem right with the timing of their unlikely tryst. Suddenly suspicious, Jax pointedly aimed a scowling look at Bobby and leveled, "What did you find in her books?"

There was a terse wall of silence between them for a long moment before Bobby eventually admitted, "She was skimming."

"Shit, Bro," Jax thunderously exclaimed at that hazardous revelation. "Did Clay know?"

"I don't see how," Bobby's bushy brows drew together in immediate denial. "I got the money paid back in small increments over a few months and," he paused before shamefully disclosing. "The thing with Luann was so that Otto never had to find out about her stealing from the Club."

"Damn it, Bobby," he nearly growled. "This doesn't just slide shit sideways; it flips it upside down again."

"I know, Brother, I know," Bobby lamented just as they heard the scrape of additional boots interrupt their discussion.

Chibs' lilting brogue confirmed, "Devon just called. We're all set; the Irishman will meet you at the bar in half an hour."

"I'll catch up to you and Op in a minute," Jax quickly agreed not wanting to draw his other Brothers further into this mess quite yet.

"Okay, Jackie Boy," the Scotsman quizzically replied before hurriedly backing away toward the row of parked bikes.

Turning back to Bobby, Jax unequivocally stated, "You need to figure out how to make this right."

"I will," the older man hastened to comply with his V.P.'s assessment. "Right now, though, you gotta go make sure our pipeline is secure for that cartel deal."

"Yeah," Jax resignedly uttered knowing that he needed to nail down these negotiations for the entire Club's safety, however, every second he spent away from Tara past sundown was bringing him ever closer to another sunrise without her again.

Purposefully, Jax trudged one sneaker clad foot in front of the other determined to swiftly curtail any of the IRA's concerns so that he could take care of the gritty business that mattered to him the most. His wife.

* * *

><p>Begrudgingly, she watched the trio of bikes roar out of the lot into the dark cover of night from her cramped office logically knowing that she couldn't have stopped them. Still, Gemma walked over to the open door between her office and the nearly empty garage bays with one brow raised in accusation as she loudly questioned the man wiping down his tools, "Plain clothes?"<p>

"They're just meeting an Irishman for a drink," Tig tried to allay her obvious concerns with a concise explanation as he continued straightening the mechanics work area trying to avoid a more in depth discussion.

"Hey, Tig," she intentionally left the words hanging to force her longtime confidante to stop and look at her.

"Yeah, Darlin," he finally paused to rejoin just as she'd expected.

"You should be watching him," she challenged the Sergeant at Arms' seemingly nonchalant demeanor.

"I know," the dark haired man replied with a disgruntled quirk of his mouth, "but he wants me with you right now, Gem."

"That's bullshit," she stridently returned; neither of them really sure whether the matriarch was talking about Jax caring enough to want Tig with her right now or the need for him to shadow her in the first place.

"Hey," he offered with his usual concern, "it's been a long day. Let's stop by and see Clay at the hospital and then get you home."

"Okay," she reluctantly acceded with a grimace. "I just wish that I didn't feel like something bad was gonna happen."

"Gem," Tig contradicted, "it'll all be fine. Jax can handle himself. So stop worrying."

"I'm a mother," Gemma scoffed as she grabbed her purse to head to the hospital. "We never stop worrying."

* * *

><p>Their hard ride had gotten them to Devon's Place early and, impatiently, Jax fingered another smoke while Chibs had gone in ahead to ensure that their advance arrival wouldn't cause problems for their Gaelic friends.<p>

"I saw Tara earlier," Opie gruffly mentioned as he put his leather gloves in his back pocket and scanned the rundown section of town for potential threats.

"At least that makes one of us," Jax rankly stated with growing resentment as he pulled another hit from his favorite cancer stick and stared into the inky shadows that ghosted across the alley at the far end of the cracked lot.

"You okay," his best friend asked with concern spreading across his well bearded countenance.

"She tell you about it," Jax guardedly replied as he slowly exhaled. Right now, the V.P. wasn't sure he wanted to discuss the loss of his only son yet even with his closest pal because the distressing feelings were both too new, uncontrollable, and acridly raw for him to make sense of them.

"Not really," Opie easily brushed off whatever scant details he claimed not to have garnered in the first place. "She just said that you'd finally talked some."

"Yeah, we did," Jax's mouth rolled to the side with the swelling tide of emotional upheaval that swept through him as he recalled the waves of grief and pain that had nearly dragged them both under last night.

"She also hissed something like a furious kitten about you spending the night at her father's place too," Opie added in a tone that was decidedly overprotective and big brotherly.

Yesterday, Jax had been raggedly jealous of the verbal intimacy shared between his wife and his best friend and, today, the biker was about to tell his Brother off for even suggesting that his intentions toward his own wife might be less than honorable. Warily, he narrowed his gaze and flatly demanded, "You got a problem with that now?"

"Nope," his longtime friend shot Jax a quick teasing grin; the other man's telltale gold tooth flashed with boyish merriment into the dimly lit parking lot just as Chib's whistled for them to join him inside the bar.

"Finish this later," Opie asked not wanting to short change the brevity of their discussion if his Brother really wanted to talk about everything.

"Nope," Jax smiled back with amiable camaraderie as he negligently flicked his butt to the ground.

His loping strides ate up the distance quickly as Jax soon found himself inside the murky haze of the smoke filled bar where the garish red of the swizzle sticks abruptly stood out against the dank colors of the dark wood paneling that flanked the watering hole on all sides. The place had a grungy feel that was only brightened by the haunting glow of the shamrock shaped lights that cast a green specter over the din of the Irish jig playing jauntily in the background.

And, yet, none of the replicated old country ambience mattered when compared to the rustic, non-existent charm of their brooding contact.

Jax nodded to Devon, the bar owner, with long-held respect before he rudimentarily passed by on his way to their usual spot near the back. Quickly, he jerked his blonde head to the side to indicate that Opie should fan out as his friend saw fit while Chibs accompanied him to the bargaining table. With considerable ease, Jax slid into a chair and greeted his solitary counterpart across the wooden expanse, "Hey, Cameron, it's good to see you stateside."

He'd momentarily paused before curiosity had Jax asking, "Where's McKeavey?"

The Irishman was somber, almost morose, as he instantly replied, "He's dead."

"Jesus," Chibs immediately responded, "what the bloody hell happened?"

The other man's voice was as tight as his close cropped hair as Cameron explained to them both, "The Oakland Port Commissioner threatened to bust our shipment on Monday if we didn't triple his payoff. Michael was pissed, went off on the man for trying to change the deal, and Heffner had a few of his goons jump my cousin and beat him."

"That greedy prick," Chibs' accent thickened with his anger at their longtime allies passing.

"They broke his neck and left him for dead," Cameron added with grief and rage simmering in his steadfast gaze.

"That's rough shit, man," Jax earnestly extended his condolences. "Can we help you with anything?"

"No, no, this is personal, I'll handle Mr. Heffner," the Irishman unequivocally stated, "but I thank ya kindly for the offer."

"No problem," Jax bluntly replied, "McKeavey was a friend."

"This upcoming meeting is important to Galen," Cameron efficiently switched topics, "we need to know about this thing with Clay."

"It's an internal issue," Jax fronted with an eerie calm that he was far from feeling when discussing the man who'd betrayed him so deeply. "As you know from SAMBEL, we run things as a Club so we're more than able to keep up our end while Clay is out of commission."

After digesting the meat of that message, the older man wisely skewered him with the most pointed of questions, "And will Clay be back at the helm once he heals?"

"That's a Club decision," Jax forced out through gritted teeth as Chibs sent him a warning glance, "but you can assure Galen that whatever happens, we're solid."

"That's good to know," Cameron grunted back before he cautioned, "but the Council is most comfortable with Clay's more non-reactionary decisions."

It was apparent that the Irish, while marginally aware of what had caused the bone deep rift between ruling Sons, weren't fully behind Jax's brutally swift retaliation yet. Before he could respond though, Devon's angry question broke the shield of protection that had previously cloaked their meetings.

Jax barely caught the two hooded figures in the far edge of his peripheral vision before shots rang out, peppering the dark interior with sharp bursts of glass shards as bullets riddled the establishment. The harsh scuffle of boots and bodies hitting the floor ricocheted through his hard head as he, Opie, and the barkeep automatically returned fire.

Pain, ripe and fresh, permeated the air along with the faint echo of lethal shotgun blasts as he scrambled toward Chibs and the fallen Irishman. "Cameron," Jax rapidly assessed the triage that their Scotsman was already administering, "you're hit bad, we gotta get you to an emergency room."

"No," Cameron barely gasped out, "I'm wanted on four continents, I can't just check into a hospital."

"Shit," Jax cursed long and low before ordering, "Block the doors and call the guys."

"Jackie Boy," Chibs' grave look nearly staggered him with where his Brother was likely headed when the older man informed, "these slugs are deep. He's gonna need the-"

"Do the best you can," he leveled without volunteering another option even as the formerly white bar rags became soaked in a slickly foreboding crimson.

"We gotta get him back to the clubhouse," the Scotsman frantically muttered as he continued to apply the pressure that was scarcely keeping Cameron alive amid his severe blood loss. "The supplies I've got there might help."

Desperately, Jax hoped to God that Chibs could work some form of half-assed miracle because, suddenly, the last thing the biker wanted to do tonight was contact his Old Lady with this shit.


	15. Chapter 15

Sweat poured off of him in sodden sheets.

Fatigue weighed heavily on the older man's leather-clad back and shoulders; yet, Chibs furiously worked on with Juice diligently at his side. Their chapel turned impromptu clinic now looked more like an inner sanctum of bloody human sacrifice from a horror film rather than an innocuous space for charter meetings or, more recently, triage assessment and healing.

Jax could see the rampant worry, the rugged determination, and the utter futility in each of the Scotsman's frenzied actions. His Brother was doing all that his five months as a medic in Her Majesty's service and countless hours of grisly field experience with his fellow Sons had taught him but it was all too apparent- with each drop of crimson that so freely pulsed from the injured Irishman to flow ignominiously down into the ruddy pool already congealing atop the plastic sheathed table- that it wasn't nearly enough.

Desperately, he silently willed Cameron's pallor to become a lively flesh color instead of the pale gray that seemed to more deeply saturate the unconscious man's being with each fleeting second. The blood loss, the depth of the bullets penetration, and the gravity of the situation all flooded Jax with abject fear that if he relented- asked his wife to help now- that the gruesome reality of his outlaw existence would permanently alter their already tenuous reconciliation.

He'd had no problems ordering everyone else around, divvying up the work that needed to be done to cover their asses so that the dead carcasses of their would be assassins didn't blaze a decomposing trail straight back to the M.C. or, equally bad, the local contacts of their overseas illegal gun supply. Since the contents of their latest shipment carried an automatic life sentence that no longer seemed quite as palatable a risk now that his better half had returned to Charming, he'd relentlessly dispatched various tasks to ensure all of their relative safety over the past few hours.

And, yet, Jax still couldn't bring himself to make one measly little request of the Prospects guarding Tara because he couldn't quite make himself do something where the end result might be that he'd finally lose Tara forever. Not now; when Jax had barely gotten her back in his rejuvenated arms after the string of so many lonely nights without her had nearly choked the last gasp of esprit de corps from his life.

If it made him weak or a selfish, Jax didn't really give a fuck at this point. None of his Brothers, besides Op and Otto, had a wife or kid that permanently resided six feet under because of the Club and, until they did, his Brothers knew jack-shit about what they were all silently demanding of him. Whether he wore the V.P. patch on his cut or not, Jax would always make the final decisions where Tara was concerned because she was his Old Lady and her medical skills weren't automatically the property of Sam Crow despite what anyone else thought.

Frustration accompanied the older man's movements as Chibs swiped at his drenched forehead with his relatively bloodless forearm and cursed, "Bloody hell... the slug in his ass may have hit an artery, its probably the only thing slowing down the blood loss right now."

"Can you save him," Jax heavily drilled the other man with the question.

His longtime friend meaningfully looked at him over Cameron's bullet laden body and regretfully assessed, "Jackie, the only thing that's going to save this guy is if we get someone who can actually use these surgical tools. All the scalpels, clamps, and sutures in the world aren't going to do shit to save him without someone who really knows how to use them."

Stonily, Jax once again denied what Chibs was really trying to request as he ordered, "Just do your best."

A pall hadn't just fallen over the Brothers still mingling behind them at the bar at his words, it had coarsely blanketed his own yearning heart too because Jax knew that he was foolishly fighting in vain against the inevitable as well.

* * *

><p>Her mother's intuition had been clanging a warning along Gemma's nerves all night long like the old fashioned wind-up alarm clock her father had religiously used for years before they'd placed him in a home that specialized in his disease. She'd always felt bad about leaving Nate in that place when her visits came to an end but she hadn't even felt a smidgeon of remorse for leaving Clay relatively helpless in his hospital bed so abruptly.<p>

The instant that Tig had answered his prepay, she'd known that Jax's little soirée with the Irish had unexpectedly been crashed by some kind of unwanted trouble or another but it wasn't until Gemma actually set eyes on the carnage that had been meant for her boy that the danger he'd been in had truly hit home. She could have easily lost him tonight and that maternal worry had fueled her innate actions as she'd charged forward to enfold her son within her smothering embrace.

It wasn't until she'd been right in front of Jax staring at the rigid set of his jaw that Gemma had remembered her current predicament and wisely decided against throwing her arms around her son inherently knowing that she wasn't up for another angry rebuff from him for the second day in a row. Still, she couldn't help but offer, "Glad that you're okay."

Jax nodded a stiff acknowledgement before his attention was immediately brought back to the haphazard surgery in progress in the chapel meeting room. It was patently clear that things weren't going well in there given the grunts, curses, and disgust that echoed throughout the clubhouse to mix discordantly with the concise tempo of guns being cleaned, checked, and stockpiled on the bar countertop behind her. Without reservation, she asked, "Do you need me to do anything? Get the girls on something?"

Her son's bone deep rage was only partially masked by his brash defiance as Jax taunted over his shoulder, "You think calling Ima again will help with this."

"Jackson, you never forget when someone hurts your baby," she started to defend her actions only to be cut off by his withering glance.

The heat of Jax's fury was so intense that it burned a startling realization into the marrow of her soul. Jax didn't want to hear her excuses. He didn't want to listen to her justifications or decipher anymore of her machinations. Her boy knew all too well now that a parent never forgot an offense against their child and it was a lesson that she'd ruthlessly and painfully taught him all because of that little bitch.

The man who stood so incensed before her now wasn't a stranger and, yet, Gemma had never known this cutting aspect of her son. His fierce edge of authority had been honed recently by the sharp pain of betrayal and loss. He looked older, tougher, and, somehow, more solitarily than she'd ever witnessed before. There wasn't a Son in the clubhouse who missed the condemning exchange but they all wisely kept to their tasks instead of intervening until they heard the blistering peel of profanity and Chibs' outright demand for the doctor.

That quick flash of fear that crossed Jax's face at the mention of Tara's name told Gemma that if her son didn't want his wife here for some reason it was exactly where Gemma should suddenly want the surgeon. Sagely, she stood poised for her chance to strike back at her younger nemesis with just the seemingly innocent slip of her tongue.

* * *

><p>Blood squirted in a steady stream like gushing water from the ugly garden fountain in old Belfast that his Fiona had loved so much. The bullet he'd just removed had nicked a femoral artery and, without thought, Chibs immediately shoved Juices fingers into the ragged hole like they were a plug, a temporary stopper keeping the Irishman's Lifesource from draining away like unwanted bath water, but that wouldn't hold for long.<p>

"What happened," Jax demanded with growing unease.

"Got one of the slugs out but it hit an artery. Cameron's going to bleed out before the infection can spread anymore," his brogue was heavy as he muttered. "Sepsis won't even get a chance to kill him because this is way beyond my wheelhouse."

"Way beyond," he glaringly emphasized so his younger Brother couldn't miss his frantic sincerity.

If Chibs had learned anything from his time apart from his precious Fi; it was that the love never died and neither did the overwhelming desire to protect. He wholly understood Jax's almost feral need to shield his woman but Tara had a female's capacity for caring and devotion that was an endless well of life sustaining affection. The steadfast girl he'd known wouldn't shy away from this nor would the physician that she'd become and with fortitude he leveled, "We need Doc."

"Tara's a good girl," Piney added his raised assurance from atop his usual perch out in the bar. "She'll do her part."

"Brother, she's going to want to help," Opie knowingly confirmed from beside his father as he finished prepping another weapon. "She always did."

The milling club members were anxious, willing to assist in any way they could but his Brothers were completely useless in this regard. Apprehensively, Chibs awaited Jax's approval because without the V.P.'s agreement nobody could even look in Tara's highly skilled direction but he could readily see what the decision was costing the younger man. Jax was bitterly torn between loyalty to his patch and the haunting fear of his heart being ripped out, stomped on, and finally laid to waste if Tara walked now.

"This is ridiculous," Gemma scathingly remarked at her son's uncertainty which seemed to suddenly spur the boy into forlorn motion. Chibs saw sullen defeat bow the younger man's shoulders as Jax wearily trudged toward the clubhouse exit but only his mother dared to petulantly demand, "Where are you going?"

"To find a doctor," Jax morosely ordered himself with a chilling finality.

"I'm with you, Brother," Opie immediately shadowed his best friend's movements.

As they disappeared into the night, there wasn't a patch present that didn't understand the near crushing weight of despair their V.P. had left with but they were also equally aware that his Old Lady had stood firm in matters related to protecting the Club since returning to Charming as well. Chibs could tell from the gruff nod that one of the few remaining Original 9 had given him that Piney was confident that the woman he loved like a daughter would prove true to her ink even if Gemma superciliously smiled her doubts.

With renewed determination, Chibs double checked the pressure that Juice was giving Cameron's gunshot wounds because the Scotsman knew that Tara would be walking through their clubhouse doors soon. He just needed to keep the Irishman hanging on until then so that their Doc could once again show the feminine strength of will that had always been at the root of her problems with her mother-in-law.

* * *

><p>It was a moment that changed everything.<p>

She'd known as soon as Miles had unexpectedly returned to her father's house earlier- emerging from the dark cloak of night wielding a semi-automatic firearm by way of unspoken invitation and an all too harsh reality of a greeting- that something had gone terribly wrong. However, when she'd gleaned the severity of the barely discernible words exchanged between the two Prospects, Tara had felt an undeniable shift take place somewhere deep inside, settling the previous ambiguity, and filtering out the inconsequential noise. Instead of self-indulgently wallowing in her own grudge for waking up alone that morning, she'd calmly spent her time preparing for the inevitable outcome of the evening's more nefarious activities.

She hadn't been sure of quite who, at the time, but someone was surely going to need her steady surgeon's hand before sunrise and it hadn't mattered how pissed she'd been at him all day; Tara had been secretly terrified that it would be Jax. Over and over again as she'd taken inventory and repacked her medical kit, Tara had quietly prayed like a needle stuck in the skip of a scratched record that she wouldn't find Jax at the other end of her profession's precision sharp tools because she couldn't bear to lose him. Not now, not ever.

When her badass biker had walked through the front door- dirty, rumpled, all too windswept, and wearing a foreign expression of insecure doubt that had almost made her heart break- Tara hadn't cared about the anger that had festered from earlier or the quagmire of their marital relationship anymore. All that had mattered to her, in that moment of utter clarity was that Jax was whole and unhurt before her.

Instinct had taken over, propelled her forward, and she'd literally run to him.

Tara had fully indulged in his solid embrace as Jax's arms hurried to lace her flush to him. The two of them held together by a perfect seam of mutual need, threaded with absolute relief, and cut from the simple pattern of undeniable love that had always woven their hearts together.

Tenaciously, they'd clung to one another as if touching the other's flesh and bone was their single saving grace in this roughshod and chaotic world. Eternities of consolation and commitment stretched unspoken between them in those mere seconds that passed within the tight circle of their joined limbs but they both felt the rush of those silent words pound through them anyway as their closeness, their intimate proximity to the other, communicated so much more than a three word expression ever could.

Breathlessly, she finally pulled back just slightly to look at him. Her smooth cheek had run along the whiskered surface of Jax's skin making her furtively delight in the solace that still danced through her veins at his nearness after so much worry had plagued her. Then, pleasurably, the tender rasp of his lips brushed over hers and Tara nearly inhaled his familiar question, the words slipping over her tongue with the casual sensuality of their old routine as he asked, "Are you okay?"

She licked her mouth, savoring the sweetness of Jax's kiss of salutation, and silently nodded her response just as her fingertips naturally buried themselves in the wild blonde tangle of his locks. Purposefully, she tried to assuage the predatory fear that unexpectedly lurked in his deep blue pools as she steadily offered, "Jax, tell me how I can help you."

Something had humbled him, almost hobbled him, as Jax's normal cocky assurance had been stripped away again, and he'd been left emotionally naked and vulnerable under the rough facade of his cut. His reticent tone earnestly beseeched her to understand his strained request, to aide him as well but, mostly, his posture silently begged her to not outright reject him as Jax explained, "I need you to come to the clubhouse with me."

"Okay," she quickly agreed already knowing that it wasn't just her stellar company that Jax was after.

His few words were hesitant but his gaze still implored her to gracefully acquiesce as he glumly added, "Bullet wounds."

Tara swallowed hard past the lump that had just materialized in her throat knowing that those tiny scraps of metal could have just as easily found their way into Jax's unmarred flesh. Mercifully, they hadn't but it still shook Tara to her core to realize how closely he lived to the cutting edge of the deadly reaper indelibly etched on his back and, subconsciously, her hands drifted down from his nape to apply an invisible balm of safety over the inky symbol of the deadly game of Russian roulette he played with his life every day.

Instead of voicing her concern, Tara evenly replied, "My kit is already in my bag by the front door."

Suddenly, she felt a riptide of relief unrepentantly crash through Jax's entire being with her simple compliance, his whole demeanor seemingly buoyed by her pragmatic acceptance as she added, "I want to help you save your wounded person, Jax."

* * *

><p>Gemma hadn't expected Tara's efficiency and cool control after the younger woman's initial shock when she'd entered the blood soaked chapel. Quickly though, the surgeon's knowledge and training had taken over and she and Chibs had fallen into a natural rhythm while Juice's finger had continued to play its role in damming the dyke of Cameron's blood loss.<p>

Strangely feeling useless as Tara took command of the room, Gemma almost felt relieved when a prescription bottle was shoved into her hands and she was ordered to give the Irishman two pills to start taming the infection that would kill the man just as surely as he'd bleed out without real medical treatment. The snap of Tara's sterile gloves played accompaniment to Gemma's well timed slaps as she informed the barely conscious man, "The Doc's here. She's a friend of the Club."

"She's more than that," Juice eagerly interjected like a puppy wagging its tail for approval, "she's Jax's wife."

The Puerto Rican missed her quelling look but Chibs had taken note of it and intentionally voiced loud enough for his Brothers beyond the open door to hear, "You're in good hands now, Cammie."

"Take these," Gemma forced the antibiotics and the alcohol into the Irishman and added for the Scotsman's infuriating benefit; "she'll fix you right up."

"Aye," the injured man gasped out as Tara struck him with the needle carrying his sedative. "Are you Irish, Doc?"

"Half," she saw Tara quirk a small grin of lilting recognition as the other woman continued to methodically prep her instruments.

"The half that's a doctor," their patient prodded trying to remain lucid amid the drugs rapidly pumping through his system.

For a moment the younger woman stilled as Tara looked Gemma squarely in the eye and unequivocally staked her claim, "The half that's married."

"That's a good thing to have figured out," the Irishman's words slurred as he lost consciousness but neither Gemma, Chibs, nor Jax who'd been observing from by the pool table had missed the physician's underlying meaning or the steely tone in which she'd delivered her news. The prognosis for the bullet riddled man was improving by the second as Tara swiftly dispatched his injuries but the chances of Gemma sending the good doctor scurrying back to Chicago anytime soon were very obviously dwindling.

There was no doubt as the motorcycle matriarch watched masculine pride and something even more basic and essential swell in her son's eyes as Jax looked upon Tara that the former high school sweethearts had seriously reconnected somehow. There was also little question that the bitch still had permanent ties in her boy but had also made substantial inroads with Gemma's Club as well given the rough-edged looks of gratitude, relief, and acceptance that were cast in the Doc's direction as the men did shots to mark the Irishmen's lucky change in fortune.


	16. Chapter 16

The drunken revelry raged around them, spilled out of the clubhouse to emblazon the inky darkness of the square along with a bonfire of flaming relief that was rekindled by Tara's sure, unfaltering, movements as she'd expertly taken charge of Cameron's injuries. Their longtime Irish connection was steadily improving, his prognosis looking infinitely better with each second that passed but it was nothing compared to the agonizing faith that had resurrected Jax's hopefilled heart, burning him, branding his beleaguered soul with the knowledge that when it counted Tara had surely claimed him once again.

Whether in a court of law or looking down the lethal firing squad of his mother's eternal disapproval, his woman had stated her place with an elemental resolve that left Jax nearly dizzy with the unspoken repreive, emotionally high with the awe inspiring reverence of a man that had been given clemency when he'd least expected it was the headiest brew the M.C. officiant could sip tonight no matter what liquor was in his glass as he sat outside plotting retaliation, mischief, and certain mayhem with his fellow Brothers.

"The Irishman kept yammering worse than the Yiddish women where I grew up," Juice offered with an unusual sense of wonderment and pride along with just the slightest hint of lingering self-doubt as he sipped from his bottle of beer, "but Tara said I helped save his life."

"What does that mean," Jax pointedly looked at each of the men assembled at the picnic table, ignoring the cacophony of the riotous celebration around them that was acting as both a cover and decoy for the Irishman's presence on the Teller-Morrow lot, until he got an explanation from the Scotsman who'd been there for the entire procedure.

"Ah, Jackie Boy," Chibs regretfully informed him, "Tara heard Cameron demand that we take out that rat bastard Heffner when he became conscious again."

"Shit," Jax exclaimed after running his hand helplessly down his face to slam it ruthlessly on the battered wooden table. Yet, that single epithet didn't even begin to cover the enormity of the clusterfuck this could become for him personally as dread and panic started to race with each other through his veins. His woman had always been a smart girl, she would know they weren't talking about fucking dinner and a movie here. "We gotta move Cameron to the cabin. Now."

"Hold on, Boy," Piney gruffly countered from the other end of the table beside Bobby. "You need to settle down. Deal with Heffner first."

"Don't tell me what I need to do, Old Man," Jax yelled; his temper instantly seething. "Friend or not, that Irish prick needs to stop talking about this shit around my Old Lady."

"Jax," Op interjected, "he's right."

"Look," Jax stated; his blood suddenly pounding like an out of control jack hammer in fear of his wife's uncertain withdrawal with the drug-induced revelation of anymore Irish truth and knowledge this evening, "this isn't just about Tara." He pointed to the drunken bacchanal surrounding them desperately trying to get them to understand, "this won't fool a search warrant or stop a raid. We need to move him before we deal with Heffner."

Warily, he eyed his Brothers across the scarred wooden planks gauging their own levels of acceptance, each incessant thud of his heart pushing him that much closer to a reprieve as they nodded their accent, knowing that it was the best move for the club even if his motivation was initially the personal fear of losing the monumental capitulation he'd received from Tara earlier.

"Okay," Tigg finally acquiesced for the group with his usual contempt for brains over outright blood and brawn, "how should we go about this V.P.?"

"You, Piney, and Chibs will take the Irishmen to the cabin tonight then Bobby, Op, and I will take care of Heffner tomorrow," Jax leveled with a calm certainty that belied any of his earlier turmoil. "Use the van and tow truck as cover."

"And, Tara," Happy grunted out the question

"There's nothing to worry about there," Piney's authoritative declaration did little to alleviate the old ache that settled once again around Jax's heart even though he knew that his woman's ink had already proven indelibly true. She might have claimed him once again tonight but knowing that she'd never betray him was going to be cold comfort if Tara ultimately decided to uphold that promise somewhere other than in his arms once Romeo charmed Galen and the other Irish Kings but, until then, Jax added, "She doesn't leave the compound. Not until this Irish-Cartel shit is locked down and we've take care of who attacked us tonight."

"You sure you're ready for that fight, Brother," Op smirked at his best friend knowing what an implacable resistance Tara could put up if she truly chose to be difficult. She had never been mean just immovable and way too fucking smart for him to out maneuver easily.

"Oh, shit," Jax replied already knowing that he was likely to have lost this battle before it even began.

"Don't worry, man, I've got your back," his best pal since they were infants stood and clasped his back in brotherly affection. "She still owes me for not kicking Hale's ass when he was her paper boy."

For an instant, he felt a shimmer of relief that the mountain of a man he'd called his best friend his entire life was going to be easing Tara into her current travel and safety restrictions until Jax realized he'd never known there was something that might have merited shit kicking back in the day that he'd never been made privy to before and yelled, "Wait, Op, what the hell are you talking about?"

The grizzly man's only answer was a frustratingly enigmatic grin before he slipped through the clubhouse door.

* * *

><p>That sneaky little bitch.<p>

June still couldn't believe the good doctor had pulled one over on Hale and the desk duty sergeant by simply pulling two accident reports and then only taking a copy of one of them. Idiots, the both of them. Little Miss Tara hadn't really cared about the accident that her parents had been involved in at all; it was all just a clever ruse to get into the records room so that she could have access to the seemingly benign report on John Teller.

However, that trivial piece of paper couldn't be that innocuous if the good doctor had endeavored to procure it after all of this time. Now just what was she doing poking into the accident investigation that had eventually claimed the life of her future father in law? Better yet, as she stared at the rudimentary paperwork, it all seemed a little too clean and precise for a collision that left the founding President of the Sons of Anarchy MC fighting for his life in a fated losing battle for two days.

She couldn't put her finger on it but something felt slightly off kilter about this report and then she spotted the unmistakable signature at the bottom in the blank left open for the supervising officer. Wayne Unser.

She didn't need to be a grease monkey in her spare time like her father had been to spot a coverup when it was right in front of her in black and white and little Tara had known something all this time or she'd never have pulled that file. Was that really why Clay had tried to kill her? Was it because she knew something about how John Teller had really died and not because she'd disloyally left Charming when Jax went to lock-up? What other damning secrets lay hidden behind those disarmingly innocent eyes?

Biting her lip in contemplation of how she'd play this latest tidbit of information to her advantage, June automatically answered her cell, "Stahl."

Quickly, she stashed the report in her temporary desk drawer as she simultaneously holstered her weapon, knowing that the remainder of her evening had just gotten even more interesting with the report of two dead bodies and earlier shots heard at a local RIRA controlled bar. She wasn't exactly sure how all of these puzzle pieces fit but she'd be sure to carve them into her own masterpiece of destruction for the Sons with the heir apparent's little woman as her lynch pin.

* * *

><p>Meticulously, Tara washed the instruments that had become so familiar that they seemed merely an extension of her own body. The sterile metal as malleable and adept as her own fingers when wielded with her well-trained expertise but, now, in this moment, the surgical tools she'd used earlier seemed cold, hard, and unyielding like the fine line she'd always been taught should exist between right and wrong until circumstance had taught her so long ago that her innate boundaries were arbitrary at best.<p>

Maybe, that was just her long-standing remorse and culpability talking but Tara couldn't just forget what she'd seen or heard tonight. Even half-way unconscious and barely clinging to his own life, the Irishman she'd been treating had been gasping and sputtering out grueling details of what was surely going to be part of a retaliatory hit during his more lucid moments.

It was a bitter truth, another reality of Jax's hazy outlaw existence, that had always scared her. Not just because of the harsh brutality that could be meted out for not adhering to a code of loyalty that had nothing to do with the legalities the rest of the world sought comfort and safety within but because she, somehow, had always known that her moral compass had always been skewed toward the darker fringes of acceptability rather than strictly the straight and narrow path that her own mother had cherished. It was a shadowed timbre of self-honesty that Tara never had to face while sheltered within the regimented life she'd built for herself in Chicago but each minute she spent back in her hometown that wall of plausible distance was no longer offering protection and deniability from her introspective desire for justice. The foreboding knowledge of a rapidly growing need for retribution had reemerged to plague her battered heart and soul since the horrific events of her past had been forcefully revealed in Charming. How the hell was she supposed to reconcile who'd she'd become with what she'd always been?

Mentally exhausted, confusion and uncertainty weighing heavily upon her shoulders, Tara finished drying hands that somehow never seemed to feel clean and reached for the steaming pot of the molten tar the club somehow managed to pass off as coffee as her mind continued to run in furious circles like a top crazily spinning out of control. Unfortunately, she wasn't given a moment longer to consider her predicament alone before her contemptuous mother in law interrupted her internal debate.

She wasn't nearly ready to make nice and there was no fucking way that Tara was backing down this time because she'd never been able to bring herself to do whatever Gemma seemed to want. Still. She tried to momentarily defuse the normally explosive situation that volleyed between them one last time by matter of factly stating, "I'm tired and in no mood to argue with you in what's left of the night."

"Oh, no fight," Gemma replied in a sweetly pandering tone that immediately irritated her more than the boisterous racket spilling over from the party in the main room. "You saved the Irishman."

"You're welcome," Tara blandly offered trying to get her fortifying bit of liquid caffeine poured and leave before the cunning matriarch got to her ulterior motive for engaging in what could loosely be construed as their first civil conversation in over a decade.

"I'm just curious," the surgeon internally groaned at Gemma's words knowing that she was already too late to avoid the viper's quick fangs as her dark venom filled the room just as surely as Tara's coffee nearly reached the brim of her mug. "How do you and Jax see whatever this is working out?"

"What are you talking about Gemma," Tara automatically questioned knowing that she was certainly stirring up more than the sugar in her warm brew with that inquisitive remark.

"You're obviously reconnected and you're not really one of them," her mother in law scoffed as the older woman pointedly eyed the bevy of Crow Eaters over her shoulder that had seemingly slunk out of the woodwork like an army of slutty cock roaches once the tequila shots had begun.

"Glad that's clear," she barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes at the woman's audacity for even trying to put Tara in the same degrading sentence as the Sam Crow sweet-butts with that less than distinctive comparison. It was just one more item that she'd add to the ever-growing pile of things Tara was likely never telling Jax because it would send him into another rampage that his mother would still treat his wife with such blatant disrespect even though Tara had never been that type of girl.

Instead, her morbid curiosity finally won out after a lifetime of not knowing as Tara eventually wondered aloud, "Gemma, why have you always hated Jax and me together so much?"

Taken aback at first by her blunt inquiry, Gemma's shrewd gaze ultimately leveled, "Okay. I'll tell you since its way past time that things should be over between you and my boy."

With a forward stance that clearly screamed the older woman's ever-present loathing and disregard, Gemma pushed out her furtive condemnation, "For someone whose smarter and more headstrong than anyone I've ever met; you're certainly a dumb bitch. "

"You can't exist in the haze of ignorant obedience required of Old Ladies. You've always been too anal and neurotic for that even as a kid- and you've never really lived in our world even when you and Jax were together before but it's the only one that my son has ever known." Fiercely, the older woman leaned even closer and added, "I won't let you twist his head around, try and tear him away from me again, not even with all your dead baby bullshit."

It took Tara a minute to recover from Gemma's vicious verbal sucker-punch; to finally glean the rank motivation that lay putridly beneath Gemma's hostile and underhanded actions all of these years as Tara succinctly unearthed her bewildered astonishment through furrowed brows, "You've never liked me simply because you think that I could somehow take Jax away from you or the Club. That his love for me would be stronger than your stranglehold over him. That's why you couldn't handle me leaving Charming while he was inside."

"You killed my baby," she heartbrokenly shot back through the shield of agonized tears, "because you were jealous of how much Jax cared for me."

Tara watched the other woman's cold, icy, stare further harden into crystal shards of lethal animosity at her all too perceptive admission as she sagely continued, "Do I really scare you that much, Gemma?"

"Sweetheart, I've only been scared of three women in my life and you certainly aren't one of them," the ball busting M.C. Queen lowly snarled her false denial. "Why don't you just head back to Chicago before any more irreparable damage is done since we both know that you'll run back there eventually anyway. You should just end things now and save both you and Jax from even more heartache."

"You still think that you can do or say whatever you want in this town," Tara scoffed back in acrid disbelief. "That you and Clay can keep all your dirty little secrets buried in the past but it doesn't work that way, Gemma. Not anymore. Not with me."

Despite the quick advance and harsh rebuttal of defensive words from Gemma, they both now knew that Tara could have the biking diva quaking in her laced up knee-high boots if she really tried. Tara was honest enough with herself, at least, to admit that she kind of liked the perverse idea even if she'd always known that Gemma's instinctual fear was without true merit because Jax had never put her needs over his loyalty to the Sons. However, Tara couldn't help but take satisfaction in realizing that Gemma wasn't aware of that crucial bit of information and, likely, never would be either.

Somehow it would be so much easier to deal with Sam Crow's reigning bitch now that Tara understood the crowning point of Gemma's less than noble insecurities. The surgeon was about as likely to forget that useful tidbit as the still grieving mother was to forgive Gemma's lethal duplicity because time hadn't healed her festering maternal wounds and Tara was still mad as hell at the woman who'd orchestrated the brutal attack that had turned her adult life into a wretched and lonely existence for so long.

And, Tara silently promised herself; Gemma would soon learn that she should be very afraid of her daughter in law but not for the more obvious reason the older woman had always feared. If Gemma thought that she'd already atoned for the misery that the biking matriarch had wrought on others during her sordid life with her recent fallout with Jax; the older woman would soon learn that her true reckoning hadn't even begun yet.

* * *

><p>Romeo was never a particularly happy man.<p>

Especially tonight.

"Two shooters hit Jax and his crew when they were meeting the Irishman," Luis simply informed his long time commanding officer. "They got the shooters. Lobo Sonora."

"We'll need to deal with that. Quickly," a narrowed eye was already heavily pointed at him.

"Men are already enroute," Luis efficiently confirmed knowing that wasn't the worst that they needed to deal with this evening. "Cameron was hit bad. Teller's wife had to patch him up so that he'd pull through."

"Clay reached out to say she was a security concern," Romeo drilled him even harder with that same grueling stare. "What have we found so far?"

"Not enough," was his resigned response. "Yet."

* * *

><p>They looked like fireflies dancing over a midnight field, the ember tips of their glowing cigarettes circling round and round like they were merely floating on an easy summer breeze from up here on the roof but Opie knew the people below them in the square holding the ends of those smoldering butts were far from innocent so unlike the brunette woman he'd followed from the kitchen up here.<p>

Quietly, knowing that he wouldn't startle her but rightfully concerned after the brutal emotional exchange he'd overhead between the woman who'd been more of a mother to him than Mary ever had been and the girl who'd been like a sister to him since his earliest memories, Opie dropped down carefully next to her on the exhaust vent and silently pulled her into the balm of his sturdy embrace.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd offered Tara the quiet solace of his arms when her world had gone awry.

He figured that she'd stay stoic after having already spent the grief stricken tears that had only come recently to the woman and not the girl he'd known but Tara surprised him once again by demanding, "Tell me what really happened with Donna."

There was something elusive that he'd never seen in the depths of Tara's hazel gaze before but there was also a desperate need clawing at her that haunted him as well that earnestly compelled Opie to respond, "That ATF bitch, Stahl. She hung me out as a rat."

"Clay," Tara's whispered question resounded between them like a shotgun blast destroying what was left of the numbing dam he'd built up around his personal need for vengeance.

His resulting silence didn't deny what they both inherently knew to be true but, somehow, that hadn't eased anything for Opie. It just made it even worse. This couldn't have just been her own tragic experience with Clay that led Tara to that quick of a conclusion because what had even gotten her to asking about Donna's passing in the first place. Furrowing his brow as he truly looked at the woman who sat beside him in the inky shadows of the night, he finally acknowledged what had eluded him in her insightful stare before. Tara's formerly clear green eyes were shaded with angry hues of retribution and revenge.

And it made Opie suddenly fearful to ask what the hell else she might know about their formerly revered King?


End file.
